The  person  charging  this  material  is  re- 
sponsible for  its  return  to  the  library  from 
which  it  was  withdrawn  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below. 

Theft,  mutilation,  and  underlining  of  books 
are  reasons  for  disciplinary  action  and  may 
result  in  dismissal  from  the  University. 


t 


THE  LETTERS  OF 


THE  LETTERS 


OF 

CHARLES  DICKENS 


EDITED  BY 

HIS  SISTER-IN-LAW  AND  HIS  ELDEST  DAUGHTER 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS 

743  AND  745  Broadway 


V.''. 


1^0 


NEW  YORK  : J.  J.  LITTLE  L CO.,  PRINTERS, 
10  TO  20  ASTOR  PLACE. 


TO 

KATE  PERUGINI, 

THIS  MEMORIAL  OF  HER  FATHER 

IS  LOVINGLY  INSCRIBED 

BY  HER  AUNT  AND  SISTER. 


PREFACE. 


We  intend  this  Collection  of  Letters  to  be  a Sup- 
plement to  the  ‘‘Life  of  Charles  Dickens/'  by  John 
Forster.  That  work,  perfect  and  exhaustive  as  a 
biography,  is  only  incomplete  as  regards  correspond- 
ence ; the  scheme  of  the  book  having  made  it  im- 
possible to  include  in  its  space  any  letters,  or  hardly 
any,  besides  those  addressed  to  Mr.  Forster.  As  no 
man  ever  expressed  himself  more  in  his  letters  than 
Charles  Dickens,  we  believe  that  in  publishing  this 
careful  selection  from  his  general  correspondence 
we  shall  be  supplying  a want  which  has  been  uni- 
versally felt.  ' 

Our  request  for  the  loan  of  letters  was  so  promptly 
and  fully  responded  to,  that  we  have  been  provided 
with  more  than  sufficient  material  for  our  work.  By 
arranging  the  letters  in  chronological  order,  we  find 

that  they  very  frequently  explain  themselves  and 

vii 


Vlll 


FI^EFACE, 


form  a narrative  of  the  events  of  each  year.  Our 
collection  dates  from  1833,  the  commencement  of 
Charles  Dickens's  literary  life,  just  before  the  start- 
ing of  the  Pickwick  Papers,"  and  is  carried  on  up 
to  the  day  before  his  death,  in  1870. 

We  find  some  difficulty  in  being  quite  accurate  in 
the  arrangements  of  letters  up  to  the  end  of  1839^ 
for  he  had  a careless  habit  in  those  days  about 
dating  his  letters,  very  frequently  putting  only  the 
day  of  the  week  on  which  he  wrote,  curiously  in 
contrast  with  the  habit  of  his  later  life,  when  his 
dates  were  always  of  the  very  fullest. 

A blank  is  made  in  Charles  Dickens's  correspond- 
ence with  his  family  by  the  absence  of  any  letter 
addressed  to  his  daughter  Kate  (Mrs.  Perugini),  to 
her  great  regret  and  to  ours.  In  1873,  her  furniture 
and  other  possessions  were  stored  in  the  warehouse 
of  the  Pantechnicon  at  the  time  of  the  great  fire 
there.  All  her  property  was  destroyed,  and,  among 
other  things,  a box  of  papers  which  included  her 
letters  from  her  father. 

It  was  our  intention  as  well  as  our  desire  to  have 
thanked,  individually,  everyone — both  living  friends 
and  representatives  of  dead  ones — for  their  readiness 


PREFACE. 


IX 


to  give  us  every  possible  help  to  make  our  work 
complete.  But  the  number  of  such  friends,  besides 
correspondents  hitherto  unknown,  who  have  volun- 
teered contributions  of  letters,  make  it  impossible  in 
our  space  to  do  otherwise  than  to  express,  collect- 
ively, our  earnest  and  heartfelt  thanks. 

A separate  word  of  gratitude,  however,  must  be 
given  by  us  to  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins  for  the  invaluable 
help  which  we  have  received  from  his  great  knowl- 
edge and  experience,  in  the  technical  part  of  our 
work,  and  for  the  deep  interest  which  he  has  shown 
from  the  beginning,  in  our  undertaking. 

It  is  a great  pleasure  to  us  to  have  the  name  of 
Henry  Fielding  Dickens  associated  with  this  book. 
To  him,  for  the  very  important  assistance  he  has 
given  in  making  our  Index,  we  return  our  loving 
thanks. 

In  writing  our  explanatory  notes  we  have,  we  hope, 
left  nothing  out  which  in  any  way  requires  explana- 
tion from  us.  But  we  have  purposely  made  them  as 
short  as  possible ; our  great  desire  being  to  give  to 
the  public  another  book  from  Charles  Dickens’s  own 
hands — as  it  were,  a portrait  of  himself  by  himself. 

Those  letters  which  need  no  explanation — and  of 


X 


PREFACE. 


those  we  have  many — we  give  without  a word  from 
us. 

In  publishing  the  more  private  letters,  we  do  so 
with  the  view  of  showing  him  in  his  homely  domes- 
tic life — of  showing  how  in  the  midst  of  his  own  con- 
stant and  arduous  work,  no  household  matter  was 
considered  too  trivial  to  claim  his  care  and  attention. 
He  would  take  as  much  pains  about  the  hanging  of  a 
picture,  the  choosing  of  furniture,  the  superintending 
any  little  improvement  in  the  house,  as  he  would 
about  the  more  serious  business  of  his  life ; thus 
carrying  out  to  the  very  letter  his  favourite  motto  of 
‘‘What  is  worth  doing  at  all  is  worth  doing  well.’* 

Mamie  Dickens. 
Georgina  Hogarth. 

London:  October,  1879. 


BOOK  I. 

1833  TO  1842. 


THE 


OF 

CHARLES  DICKENS. 


1833  OR  1834,  AND  183s,  1836. 

NARRATIVE. 

We  have  been  able  to  procure  so  few  early  letters  of 
any  general  interest  that  we  put  these  first  years  together. 
Charles  Dickens  was  then  living,  as  a bachelor,  in  Furni- 
val’s  Inn,  and  was  engaged  as  a parliamentary  reporter  on 
The  Morning  Chronicle,  The  “ Sketches  by  Boz  ” were 
written  during  these  years,  published  first  in  The  Monthly 
Magazine  and  continued  in  The  Evening  Chronicle.  He 
^was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Catherine  Hogarth  in  1835 
— the  marriage  took  place  on  the  2d  April,  1836  ; and  he 
continued  to  live  in  Furnivabs  Inn  with  his  wife  for  more 
than  a year  after  their  marriage.  They  passed  the  summer 
months  of  that  year  in  a lodging  at  Chalk,  near  Gravesend, 
in  the  neighbourhood  associated  with  all  his  life,  from  his 
childhood  to  his  death.  The  two  letters  which  we  pub- 
lish, addressed  to  his  wife  as  Miss  Hogarth,  have  no  date, 


I 


I 


2 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


but  were  written  in  1835.  The  first  of  the  two  refers  to 
the  offer  made  to  him  by  Chapman  and  Hall  to  edit  a 
monthly  periodical,  the  emolument  (which  he  calls  too 
tempting  to  resist  ! ”)  to  be  fourteen  pounds  a month. 
The  bargain  was  concluded,  and  this  was  the  starting  of 
The  Pickwick  Papers.”  The  first  number  was  published 
in  March,  1836.  The  second  letter  to  Miss  Hogarth  was 
written  after  he  had  completed  three  numbers  of  Pick- 
wick,” and  the  character  who  is  to  “ make  a decided  hit  ” 
is  ^^ingle.” 

The  first  letter  of  this  book  is  addressed  to  Henry 
Austin,  a friend  from  his  boyhood,  who  afterwards  mar- 
ried his  second  sister  Letitia.  It  bears  no  date,  but  must 
have  been  written  in  1833  or  1834,  during  the  early  days 
of  his  reporting  for  The  Morning  Chronicle  j the  journey 
on  which  he  was  “ ordered  ” being  for  that  paper. 


[Zb  Mr.  Henry  Austin. \ 

FurnivaTs  Inn,  Weditesday  Night,  past  12. 

Dear  Henry, 

I have  just  been  ordered  on  a journey,  the  length  of 
which  is  at  present  uncertain.  I may  be  back  on  Sunday 
very  probably,  and  start  again  on  the  following  day.  Should 
this  be  the  case,  you  shall  hear  from  me  before. 

Don’t  laugh.  I am  going  (alone)  in  a gig  ; and,  to  quote 
the  eloquent  inducement  which  the  proprietors  of  Hamp- 
stead chays  hold  out  to  Sunday  riders — ‘Hhe  gen’l’m’n 
drives  himself.”  I am  going  into  Essex  and  Suffolk.  It 
strikes  me  I shall  be  spilt  before  I pay  a turnpike.  I have 
a presentiment  I shall  run  over  an  only  child  before  I reach 
Chelmsford,  my  first  stage. 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


3 


Let  the  evident  haste  of  this  specimen  of  The  Polite 
Letter  Writer”  be  its  excuse,  and 

Believe  me,  dear  Henry,  most  sincerely  yours, 


Note. — To  avoid  the  monotony  of  a constant  repetition,  we  pro- 
pose to  dispense  with  the  signature  at  the  close  of  each  letter,  except- 
ing to  the  first  and  last  letters  of  our  collection.  Charles  Dickens’s 
handwriting  altered  so  much  during  these  years  of  his  life,  that  we 
have  thought  it  advisable  to  give  a facsimile  of  his  autograph  to  this 
our  first  letter  ; and  we  reproduce  in  the  same  way  his  latest  auto- 
graph. 


\ To  Miss  Hogarth^ 

Furnival’s  Inn,  Wednesday  Evenings  1835. 
My  dearest  Kate, 

The  House  is  up ; but  I am  very  sorry  to  say  that  I 
must  stay  at  horhe.  I have  had  a visit  from  the  publishers 
this  morning,  and  the  story  cannot  be  any  longer  delayed  ; 
it  must  be  done  to-morrow,  as  there  are  more  important 
considerations  than  the  mere  payment  for  the  story  involved 
too.  I must  exercise  a little  self-denial,  and  set  to  work. 

They  (Chapman  and  Hall)  have  made  me  an  offer  of 
fourteen  pounds  a month,  to  write  and  edit  a new  publica- 
tion they  contemplate,  entirely  by  myself,  to  be  published 
monthly,  and  each  number  to  contain  four  woodcuts.  I am 


4 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


to  make  my  estimate  and  calculation,  and  to  give  them  a 
decisive  answer  on  Friday  morning.  The  work  will  be  no 
joke,  but  the  emolument  is  too  tempting  to  resist. 

% ^ 


[ To  Miss  Hogarth?[ 

Sunday  Evening. 

* 5ji  ^ 

I have  at  this  moment  got  Pickwick  and  his  friends  on 
the  Rochester  coach,  and  they  are  going  on  swimmingly, 
in  company  with  a very  different  character  from  any  I have 
yet  described,  who  I flatter  myself  will  make  a decided  hit. 
I want  to  get  them  from  the  ball  to  the  inn  before  I go  to 
bed  ; and  I think  that  will  take  me  until  one  or  two  o’clock 
at  the  earliest.  The  publishers  will  be  here  in  the  morning, 
so  you  will  readily  suppose  I have  no  alternative  but  to 
stick  at  my  desk. 

* ^ :f:  * He 

1837- 

NARRATIVE. 

From  the  commencement  of  ^^The  Pickwick  Papers,” 
and  of  Charles  Dickens’s  married  life,  dates  the  commence- 
ment of  his  literary  life  and  his  sudden  world-wide  fame. 
And  this  year  saw  the  beginning  of  many  of  those  friend- 
ships which  he  most  valued,  and  of  which  he  had  most 
reason  to  be*  proud,  and  which  friendships  were  ended  only 
by  death. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


5 


The  first  letters  which  we  have  been  able  to  procure  to 
Mr.  Macready  and  Mr.  Harley  will  be  found  under  this 
date.  In  January,  1837,  he  was  living  in  Furnival’s  Inn, 
where  his  first  child,  a son,  was  born.  It  was  an  eventful 
year  to  him  in  many  ways.  He  removed  from  Furnival’s 
Inn  to  Doughty  Street  in  March,  and  here  he  sustained 
the  first  great  grief  of  his  life.  His  young  sister-in-law, 
Mary  Hogarth,  to  whom  he  was  devotedly  attached,  died 
very  suddenly,  at  his  house,  on  the  7th  May.  In  the 
autumn  of  this  year  he  took  lodgings  at  Broadstairs.  This 
was  his  first  visit  to  that  pleasant  little  watering-place,  of 
which  he  became  very  fond,  and  whither  he  removed  for 
the  autumn  months  with  all  his  household,  for  many  years 
in  succession. 

Besides  the  monthly  numbers  of  Pickwick,’'  which 
were  going  on  through  this  year  until  November,  when  the 
last  number  appeared,  he  had  commenced  Oliver  Twist,” 
which  was  appearing  also  monthly,  in  the  magazine  called 
Bentley’s  Miscellany,”  long  before  Pickwick  ” was 
completed.  And  during  this  year  he  had  edited,  for  Mr. 
Bentley,  The  Life  of  Grimaldi,”  the  celebrated  clown. 
To  this  book  he  wrote  himself  only  the  preface,  and  altered 
and  rearranged  the  autobiographical  MS.  which  was  in 
Mr.  Bentley’s  possession. 

The  letter  to  Mr.  Harley,  which  bears  no  date,  but  must 
have  been  written  either  in  1836  or  1837,  refers  to  a farce 
called  The  Strange  Gentleman  ” (founded  on  one  of  the 
Sketches,”  called  the  “ Great  Winglebury  Duel  ”),  which 
he  wrote  expressly  for  Mr.  Harley,  and  which  was  pro- 
duced at  the  St.  James’s  Theatre,  under  the  management 
of  Mr.  Braham.  The  only  other  piece  which  he  wrote  for 
that  theatre  was  the  story  of  an  operetta,  called  The 
Village  Coquettes,”  the  music  of  which  was  composed  by 
Mr.  John  Hullah. 


6 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


[ To  Mr.  J.  P.  Harley 

48,  Doughty  Street,  Saturday  Morning. 

My  dear  Sir,- 

I have  considered  the  terms  on  which  I could  afford 
just  now  to  sell  Mr.  Braham  the  acting  copyright  in  Lon- 
don of  an  entirely  new  piece  for  the  St.  James’s  Theatre  ; 
and  I could  not  sit  down  to  write  one  in  a single  act  of 
about  one  hour  long,  under  a hundred  pounds.  For  a new 
piece  in  two  acts,  a hundred  and  fifty  pounds  would  be 
the  sum  I should  require. 

I do  not  know  whether,  with  reference  to  arrangements 
that  were  made  with  any  other  writers,  this  may  or  may 
not  appear  a large  item.  I state  it  merely  with  regard  to 
the  value  of  my  own  time  and  writings  at  this  moment ; 
and  in  so  doing  I assure  you  I place  the  remuneration  be- 
low the  mark  rather  than  above  it. 

As  you  begged  me  to  give  you  my  reply  upon  this  point, 
perhaps  you  will  lay  it  before  Mr.  Braham.  If  these  terms 
exceed  his  inclination  or  the  ability  of  the  theatre,  there  is 
an  end  of  the  matter,  and  no  harm  done. 

Believe  me  ever  faithfully  yours. 


\^To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready?^ 

48,  Doughty  Street,  Wednesday  Evenmg, 

Mv  DEAR  Sir, 

There  is  a semi-business,  semi-pleasure  little  dinner 
which  I intend  to  give  at  The  Prince  of  Wales,  in  Leices- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


7 


ter  Place,  Leicester  Square,  on  Saturday,  at  five  for  half- 
past precisely,  at  which  only  Talfourd,  Forster,  Ainsworth, 
Jordan,  and  the  publishers  will  be  present.  It  is  to  cele- 
brate (that  is  too  great  a word,  but  I can  think  of  no  bet- 
ter) the  conclusion  of  my  Pickwick  ” labours  ; and  so  I 
intend,  before  you  take  that  roll  upon  the  grass  you  spoke 
of,  to  beg  your  acceptance  of  one  of  the  first  complete 
copies  of  the  work.  I shall*  be  much  delighted  if  you 
would  join  us. 

I know  too  well  the  many  anxieties  that  press  upon  you 
just  now  to  seek  to  persuade  you  to  come  if  you  would 
prefer  a night's  repose  and  quiet.  Let  me  assure  you,  not- 
withstanding, most  honestly  and  heartily  that  there  is  no 
one  I should  be  more  happy  or  gratified  to  see,  and  that 
among  your  brilliant  circle  of  well-wishers  and  admirers 
you  number  none  more  unaffectedly  and  faithfully  yours 
than. 

My  dear  Sir,  yours  most  truly. 


1838. 

NARRATIVE. 

In  February  of  this  year  Charles  Dickens  made  an  ex- 
pedition with  his  friend,  and  the  illustrator  of  most  of  his 
books,  Mr.  Hablot  K.  Browne  Phiz "),  to  investigate 
for  himself  the  real  facts  as  to  the  condition  of  the  York- 
shire schools,  and  it  may  be  observed  that  portions  of  a 
letter  to  his  wife,  dated  Greta  Bridge,  Yorkshire,  which 
will  be  found  among  the  following  letters,  were  reproduced 
in  ‘‘  Nicholas  Nickleby.”  In  the  early  summer  he  had  a 


8 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


cottage  at  Twickenham  Park.  In  August  and  Septem- 
ber he  was  again  at  Broadstairs  ; and  in  the  late  autumn 
he  made  another  bachelor  excursion — Mr.  Browne  being 
again  his  companion — in  England,  which  included  his  first 
visit  to  Stratford-on-Avon  and  Kenilworth.  In  February- 
appeared  the  first  number  of  Nicholas  Nickleby,”  on 
which  work  he  was  engaged  all  through  the  year,  writing 
each  number  ready  for  the  following  month,  and  never 
being  in  advance,  as  was  his  habit  with  all  his  other  peri-^ 
odical  works,  until  his  very  latest  ones. 

The  first  letter  which  appears  under  this  date,  from 
Twickenham  Park,  is  addressed  to  Mr.  Thomas  Mitton,  a 
schoolfellow  at  one  of  his  earliest  schools,  and  afterwards 
for  some  years  his  solicitor.  The  letter  contains  instruc- 
tions for  his  first  will ; the  friend  of  almost  his  whole  life, 
Mr.  John  Forster,  being  appointed  executor  to  this  will  as 
he  was  to  the  last,  to  which  he  was  called  upon  to  act 
only  three  years  before  his  own  death. 

The  letter  which  we  give  in  this  year  to  Mr.  Justice 
Talfourd  is,  unfortunately,  the  only  one  we  have  been  able 
to  procure  to  that  friend,  who  was,  however,  one  with 
whom  he  was  most  intimately  associated,  and  with  whom 
he  maintained  a constant  correspondence. 

The  letter  beginning Respected  Sir ’'was  an  answer 
to  a little  boy  (Master  Hastings  Hughes),  who  had  written 
to  him  as  “ Nicholas  Nickleby  ” approached  completion, 
stating  his  views  and  wishes  as  to  the  rewards  and  punish- 
ments to  be  bestowed  on  the  various  characters  in  the 
book.  The  letter  was  sent  to  him  through  the  Rev. 
Thomas  Barham,  author  of  The  Ingoldsby  Legends.” 

The  two  letters  to  Mr.  Macready,  at  the  end  of  this 
year,  refer  to  a farce  which  Charles  Dickens  wrote,  with 
an  idea  that  it  might  be  suitable  for  Covent  Garden  Thea- 
tre, then  under  Mr.  Macready’s  management. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


9 


[To  Mrs,  Charles  Dickens^ 

Greta  Bridge,  Thursday,  Feb,  isf,  1838. 
My  dearest  Kate, 

I am  afraid  you  will  receive  this  later  than  I could 
wish,  as  the  mail  does  not  come  through  this  place  until 
two  o’clock  to-morrow  morning.  However,  I have  availed 
myself  of  the  very  first  opportunity  of  writing,  so  the  fault 
is  that  mail’s,  and  not  this. 

We  reached  Grantham  between  nine  and  ten  on  Thurs- 
day night,  and  found  everything  prepared  for  pur  recep- 
tion in  the  very  best  inn  I have  ever  put  up  at.  It  is  odd 
enough  that  an  old  lady,  who  had  been  outside  all  day  and 
came  in  towards  dinner  time,  turned  out  to  be  the  mistress 
of  a Yorkshire  school  returning  from  the  holiday  stay  in 
London.  She  was  a very  queer  old  lady,  and  showed  us 
a long  letter  she  was  carrying  to  one  of  the  boys  from 
his  father,  containing  a severe  lecture  (enforced  and  aided 
by  many  texts  of  Scripture)  on  his  refusing  to  eat  boiled 
meat.  She  was  very  communicative,  drank  a great  deal 
of  brandy  and  water,  and  towards  evening  became  insen- 
sible, in  which  state  we  left  her. 

Yesterday  we  were  up  again  shortly  after  seven  a.m., 
came  on  upon  our  journey  by  the  Glasgow  mail,  which 
charged  us  the  remarkably  low  sum  of  six  pounds  fare  for 
two  places  inside.  We  had  a very  droll  male  companion 
until  seven  o’clock  in  the  evening,  and  a most  delicious 
lady’s-maid  for  twenty  miles,  who  implored  us  to  keep  a 
sharp  look-out  at  the  coach- windows,  as  she  expected  the 
carriage  was  coming  to  meet  her,  and  she  was  afraid  of 


lO 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


missing  it.  We  had  many  delightful  vauntings  of  the  same 
kind  ; but  in  the  end  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that 
the  coach  did  not  come,  but  a very  dirty  girl  did. 

As  we  came  further  north  the  mire  grew  deeper.  About 
eight  o’clock  it  began  to  fall  heavily,  and,  as  we  crossed  the 
wild  heaths  hereabout,  there  was  no  vestige  of  a track. 
The  mail  kept  on  well,  however,  and  at  eleven  we  reached 
a bare  place  with  a house  standing  alone  in  the  midst  of  a 
dreary  moor,  which  the  guard  informed  us  was  Greta  Bridge. 
I was  in  a perfect  agony  of  apprehension,  for  it  was  fear- 
fully cold,  and  there  were  no  outward  signs  of  anybody 
being  up  in  the  house.  But  to  our  great  joy  we  discovered 
a comfortable  room,  with  drawn  curtains  and  a most  blaz- 
ing fire.  In  half  an  hour  they  gave  us  a smoking  supper 
and  a bottle  of  mulled  port  (in  which  we  drank  your  health), 
and  then  we  retired  to  a couple  of  capital  bedrooms,  in 
each  of  which  there  was  a rousing  fire  halfw^ay  up  the 
chimney. 

We  have  had  for  breakfast,  toast,  cakes,  a Yorkshire  pie, 
a piece  of  beef  about  the  size  and  much  the  shape  of  my 
portmanteau,  tea,  coffee,  ham,  and  eggs  ; and  are  now  going 
to  look  about  us.  Having  finished  our  discoveries,  we  start 
in  a postchaise  for  Barnard  Castle,  which  is  only  four  miles 
off,  and  there  I deliver  the  letter  given  me  by  Mitton’s 
friend.  All  the  schools  are  round  about  that  place,  and  a 
dozen  old  abbeys  besides,  which  we  shall  visit  by  some  means 
or  other  to-morrow.  We  shall  reach  York  on  Saturday  I 
hope,  and  (God  willing)  I trust  I shall  be  at  home  on 
Wednesday  morning. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS,  II 

I wish  you  would  call  on  Mrs.  Bentley  and  thank  her  for 
the  letter  ; you  can  tell  her  when  I expect  to  be  in  York. 

A thousand  loves  and  kisses  to  the  darling  boy,  whom  I 
see  in  my  mind’s  eye  crawling  about  the  floor  of  this  York- 
shire inn.  Bless  his  heart,  I would  give  two  sovereigns  for 
a kiss.  Remember  me  too  to  Frederick,  who  I hope  is  at- 
tentive to  you. 

Is  it  not  extraordinary  that  the  same  dreams  which  have 
constantly  visited  me  since  poor  Mary  died  follow  me  every- 
where ? After  all  the  change  of  scene  and  fatigue,  I have 
dreamt  of  her  ever  since  I left  home,  and  no  doubt  shall  till 
I return.  I should  be  sorry  to  lose  such  visionsj  for  they 
are  very  happy  ones,  if  it  be  only  the  seeing  her  in  one’s 
sleep.  I would  fain  believe,  too,  sometimes,  that  her  spirit 
may  have  some  influence  over  them,  but  their  perpetual 
repetition  is  extraordinary. 

Love  to  all  friends. 

Ever,  my  dear  Kate, 

Your  affectionate  Husband. 

iTo  Mr..  Thomas  Mitton?[ 

Twickenham  Park,  Tuesday  Night. 

Dear  Tom, 

I sat  down  this  morning  and  put  on  paper  my  testamen- 
tary meaning.  Whether  it  is  sufficiently  legal  or  not  is 
another  question,  but  I hope  it  is.  The  rough  draft  of  the 
clauses  which  I enclose  will  be  preceded  by  as  much  of  the 
fair  copy  as  I send  you,  and  followed  by  the  usual  clause 


12 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


about  the  receipts  of  the  trustees  being  a sufficient  dis- 
charge. I also  wish  to  provide  that  if  all  our  children 
should  die  before  twenty-one,  and  Kate  married  again,  half 
the  surplus  should  go  to  her  and  half  to  my  surviving 
brothers  and  sisters,  share  and  share  alike. 

This  will  be  all,  except  a few  lines  I wish  to  add  which 
there  will  be  no  occasion  to  consult  you  about,  as  they  will 
merely  bear  reference  to  a few  tokens  of  remembrance  and 
one  or  two  slight  funeral  directions.  And  so  pray  God 
that  you  may  be  gray,  and  Forster  bald,  long  before  you  are 
called  upon  to  act  as  my  executors. 

I suppose  I shall  see  you  at  the  water-party  on  Thurs- 
day ? We  will  then  make  an  appointment  for  Saturday 
morning,  and  if  you  think  my  clauses  will  do,  I will  com- 
plete my  copy,  seal  it  up,  and  leave  it  in  your  hands. 
There  are  some  other  papers  which  you  ought  to  have. 
We  must  get  a box. 

Ever  yours. 

[ To  Mr.  Serjeant  Talfourd^  M.P^ 

Twickenham  Park,  Sunday ^ July  1838. 
My  dear  Talfourd, 

I cannot  tell  you  how  much  pleasure  I have  derived  from 
the  receipt  of  your  letter.  I have  heard  little  of  you,  and 
seen  less,  for  so  long  a time,  that  your  handwriting  came 
like  the  renewal  of  some  old  friendship,  and  gladdened  my 
eyes  like  the  face  of  some  old  friend. 

If  I hear  from  Lady  Holland  before  you  return,  I shall. 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


13 


as  in  duty  bound,  present  myself  at  her  bidding  ; but  be- 
tween you  and  me  and  the  general  post,  I hope  she  may 
not  renew  her  invitation  until  I can  visit  her  with  you,  as 
I would  much  rather  avail  myself  of  your  personal  intro- 
duction. However,  whatever  her  ladyship  may  do  I shall 
respond  to,  and  anyway  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  avail 
myself  of  what  I am  sure  cannot  fail  to  form  a very  pleas- 
ant and  delightful  introduction. 

Your  kind  invitation  and  reminder  of  the  subject  of  a 
pleasant  conversation  in  one  of  our  pleasant  rides,  has 
thrown  a gloom  over  the  brightness  of  Twickenham,  for 
here  I am  chained.  It  is  indispensably  necessary  that 
‘‘Oliver  Twist’'  should  be  published  in  three  volumes,  in 
September  next.  I have  only  just  begun  the  last  one, 
and,  having  the  constant  drawback  of  my  monthly  work, 
shall  be  sadly  harassed  to  get  it  finished  in  time,  especially 
as  I have  several  very  important  scenes  (important  to  the 
story  I mean)  yet  to  write.  Nothing  would  give  me  so 
much  pleasure  as  to  be  with  you  for  a week  or  so.  I 
can  only  imperfectly  console  myself  with  the  hope  that 
when  you  see  “ Oliver  ” you  will  like  the  close  of  the 
book,  and  approve  my  self-denial  in  staying  here  to  write 
it.  I should  like  to  know  your  address  in  Scotland  when 
you  leave  town,  so  that  I may  send  you  the  earliest  copy 
if  it  be  produced  in  the  vacation,  which  I pray  Heaven  it 
may. 

Meanwhile,  believe  that  though  my  body  is  on  the 
banks  of  the  Thames,  half  my  heart  is  going  the  Oxford 
circuit. 


14  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKEHS, 

Mrs.  Dickens  and  Charlie  desire  their  best  remembran- 
ces (the  latter  expresses  some  anxiety,  not  unmixed  with 
apprehension,  relative  to  the  Copyright  Bill,  in  which  he 
conceives  himself  interested),  with  hearty  wishes  that  you 
may  have  a fine  autumn,  which  is  all  you  want,  being  sure 
of  all  other  means  of  enjoyment  that  a man  can  have. 

I am,  my  dear  Talfourd, 

Ever  faithfully  yours. 

P.S. — I hope  you  are  able  to  spare  a moment  now  and 
then  to  glance  at  “ Nicholas  Nickleby,”  and  that  you  have 
as  yet  found  no  reason  to  alter  the  opinion  you  formed  on 
the  appearance  of  the  first  number. 

You  know,  I suppose,  that  they  elected  me  at  the  Athe- 
naeum ? Pray  thank  Mr.  Serjeant  Storks  for  me. 


[ To  Mrs.  Charles  Dickensl\ 

Lion  Hotel,  Shrewsbury,  Thursday,  Nov.  ist,  1838. 
My  dearest  Love, 

I received  your  welcome  letter  on  arriving  here  last 
night,  and  am  rejoiced  to  hear  that  the  dear  children  are 
so  much  better.  I hope  that  in  your  next,  or  your  next 
but  one,  I shall  learn  that  they  are  quite  well.  A thousand 
kisses  to  them.  I wish  I could  convey  them  myself. 

We  found  a roaring  fire,  an  elegant  dinner,  a snug  room, 
and  capital  beds  all  ready  for  us  at  Leamington,  after  a 
very  agreeable  (but  very  cold)  ride.  We  started  in  a 
postchaise  next  morning  for  Kenilworth,  with  which  we 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


15 


were  both  enraptured,  and  where  I really  think  we  must 
have  lodgings  next  summer,  please  God  that  we  are  in 
good  health  and  all  goes  well.  You  cannot  conceive  how 
delightful  it  is.  To  read  among  the  ruins  in  fine  weather 
would  be  perfect  luxury.  From  here  we  went  on  to  War- 
wick Castle,  which  is  an  ancient  building,  newly  restored, 
and  possessing  no  very  great  attraction  beyond  a fine  view 
and  some  beautiful  pictures  ; and  thence  to  Stratford- 
upon-Avon,  where  we  sat  down  in  the  room  where  Shake- 
speare was  born,  and  left  our  autographs  and  read  those 
of  other  people  and  so  forth. 

W e remained  at  Stratford  all  night,  and  found  to  our 
unspeakable  dismay  that  father’s  plan  of  proceeding  by 
Bridgenorth  was  impracticable,  as  there  were  no  coaches. 
So  we  were  compelled  to  come  here  by  way  of  Birming- 
ham and  Wolverhampton,  starting  at  eight  o’clock  through 
a cold  wet  fog,  and  travelling,  when  the  day  had  cleared  up, 
through  miles  of  cinder-paths  and  blazing  furnaces,  and 
roaring  steam-engines,  and  such  a mass  of  dirt,  gloom,  and 
misery  as  I never  before  witnessed.  We  got  pretty  well 
accommodated  here  when  we  arrived  at  half-past  four,  and 
are  now  going  off  in  a . postchaise  to  Llangollen — thirty 
miles — where  we  shall  remain  to-night,  and  where  the  Ban- 
gor mail  will  take  us  up  to-morrow.  Such  are  our  move- 
ments up  to  this  point,  and  when  I have  received  your  let- 
ter at  Chester  I shall  write  to  you  again  and  tell  you  when 
I shall  be  back.  I can  say  positively  that  I shall  not  ex- 
ceed the  fortnight,  and  I think  it  very  possible  that  I may 
return  a day  or  two  before  it  expires. 


i6 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


We  were  at  the  play  last  night.  It  was  a bespeak — 

The  Love  Chase/'  a ballet  (with  a phenomenon  !),  divers 
songs,  and  A Roland  for  an  Oliver."  It  is  a good  theatre, 
but  the  actors  are  very  funny.  Browne  laughed  with  such 
indecent  heartiness  at  one  point  of  the  entertainment,  that 
an  old  gentleman  in  the  next  box  suffered  the  most  violent 
indignation.  The  bespeak  party  occupied  two  boxes,  the 
ladies  were  full-dressed,  and  the  gentlemen,  to  a man,  in 
white  gloves  with  flowers  in  their  button-holes.  It  amused 
us  mightily,  and  was  really  as  like  the  Miss  Snevellicci 
business  as  it  could  well  be. 

My  side  has  been  very  bad  since  I left  home,  although 
I have  been  very  careful  not  to  drink  much,  remaining  to 
the  full  as  abstemious  as  usual,  and  have  not  eaten  any 
great  quantity,  having  no  appetite.  I suffered  such  an 
ecstasy  of  pain  all  night  at  Stratford  that  I was  half  dead 
yesterday,  and  was  obliged  last  night  to  take  a dose  of 
henbane.  The  effect  was  most  delicious.  I slept  soundly, 
and  without  feeling  the  least  uneasiness,  and  am  a great 
deal  better  this  morning  ; neither  do  I find  that  the  hen- 
bane has  affected  my  head,  which,  from  the  great  effect  it 
had  upon  me — exhilarating  me  to  the  most  extraordinary 
degree,  and  yet  keeping  me  sleepy — I feared  it  would.  If 
I had  not  got  better  I should  have  turned  back  to  Birming- 
ham, and  come  straight  home  by  the  railroad.  As  it  is,  I 
hope  I shall  make  out  the  trip. 

God  bless  you,  my  darling.  I long  to  be  back  with  you 
again  and  to  see  the  sweet  Babs. 

Your  faithful  and  most  affectionate  Husband. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


17 


{^To  Master  Hastings  Hughes 

Doughty  Street,  London,  Dec.  12th,  1838. 

Respected  Sir, 

I have  given  Squeers  one  cut  on  the  neck  and  two  on 
the  head,  at  which  he  appeared  much  surprised  and  be- 
gan to  cry,  which,  being  a cowardly  thing,  is  just  what  I 
should  have  expected  from  him — wouldn’t  you  ? 

I have  carefully  done  what  you  told  me  in  your  letter 
about  the  lamb  and  the  two  sheeps  ” for  the  little  boys. 
They  have  also  had  some  good  ale  and  porter,  and  some 
wine.  I am  sorry  you  didn’t  say  what  wine  you  would  like 
them  to  have.  I gave  them  some  sherry,  which  they  liked 
very  much,  except  one  boy,  who  was  a little  sick  and 
choked  a good  deal.  He  was  rather  greedy,  and  that’s 
the  truth,  and  I believe  it  went  the  wrong  way,  which  I say 
served  him  right,  and  I hope  you  will  say  so  too. 

Nicholas  had  his  roast  lamb,  as  you  said  he  was  to,  but 
he  could  not  eat  it  all,  and  says  if  you  do  not  mind  his  do- 
ing so  he  should  like  to  have  the  rest  hashed  to-morrow 
with  some  greens,  which  he  is  very  fond  of,  and  so  am  I. 
He  said  he  did  not  like  to  have  his  porter  hot,  for  he 
thought  it  spoilt  the  flavour,  so  I let  him  have  it  cold.  You 
should  have  seen  him  drink  it.  I thought  he  never  would 
have  left  off.  I also  gave  him  three  pounds  of  money,  all  in 
sixpences,  to  make  it  seem  more,  and  he  said  directly  that 
he  should  give  more  than  half  to  his  mamma  and  sister, 
and  divide  the  rest  with  poor  Smike.  And  I say  he  is  a 
good  fellow  for  saying  so  ; and  if  anybody  says  he  isn’t  I 
am  ready  to  fight  him  whenever  they  like — there  ! 


i8 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


Fanny  Squeers  shall  be  attended  to,  depend  upon  it. 
Your  drawing  of  her  is  very  like,  except  that  I don’t  think 
the  hair  is  quite  curly  enough.  The  nose  is  particularly 
like  hers,  and  so  are  the  legs.  She  is  a nasty  disagreeable 
thing,  and  I know  it  will  make  her  very  cross  when  she 
sees  it ; and  what  I say  is  that  I hope  it  may.  You  will 
say  the  same  I know — at  least  I think  you  will. 

I meant  to  have  written  you  a long  letter,  but  I cannot 
write  very  fast  when  I like  the  person  I am  writing  to,  be- 
cause that  makes  me  think  about  them,  and  1 like  you, 
and  so  I tell  you.  Besides,  it  is  just  eight  o’clock  at  night, 
and  I always  go  to  bed  at  eight  o’clock,  except  when  it  is 
my  birthday,  and  then  I sit  up  to  supper.  So  I will  not 
say  anything  more  besides  this — and  that  is  my  love  to 
you  and  Neptune  ; and  if  you  will  drink  my  health  every 
Christmas  Day  I will  drink  yours — come. 

I am. 

Respected  Sir, 

Your  affectionate  Friend. 

P.S. — I don’t  write  my  name  very  plain,  but  you  know 
what  it  is  you  know,  so  never  mind. 

\To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready.'] 

Doughty  Street,  Monday  Morning. 

My  dear  Macready, 

I have  not  seen  you  for  the  past  week,  because  I hoped 
when  we  next  met  to  bring  The  Lamplighter  ” in  my 
hand.  It  would  have  been  finished  by  this  time,  but 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


19 


I found  myself  compelled  to  set  to  work  first  at  the 

Nickleby  ” on  which  I am  at  present  engaged,  and- 
which  I regret  to  say — after  my  close  and  arduous  appli- 
cation last  month — I find  I cannot  write  as  quickly  as 
usual.  I must  finish  it,  at  latest,  by  the  24th  (a  doubtful 
comfort  !),  and  the  instant  I have  done  so  I will  apply 
myself  to  the  farce.  I am  afraid  to  name  any  particular 
day,  but  I pledge  myself  that  you  shall  have  it  this  month, 
and  you  may  calculate  on  that  promise.  1 send  you  with 
this  a copy  of  a farce  I wrote  for  Harley  when  he  left 
Drury  Lane,  and  in  which  he  acted  for  some  seventy 
nights.  It  is  the  best  thing  he  does.  It  is  barely  possible 
you  might  like  to  try  it.  Any  local  or  temporary  allusions 
could  be  easily  altered. 

Believe  me  that  I only  feel  gratified  and  flattered  by 
your  inquiry  after  the  farce,  and  that  if  I had  as  much 
time  as  I have  inclination,  I would  write  on  and  on  and 
on,  farce  after  farce  and  comedy  after  comedy,  until  I 
wrote  you  something  that  would  run.  You  do  me  justice 
when  you  give  me  credit  for  good  intentions  ; but  the  ex- 
tent of  my  good-will  and  strong  and  warm  interest  in  you 
personally  and  your  great  undertaking,  you  cannot  fathom 
nor  express. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Macready, 

Ever  faithfully  yours. 

P.S. — For  Heaven’s  sake  don’t  fancy  that  I hold  The 
Strange  Gentleman  ” in  any  estimation,  or  have  a wish 
upon  the  subject. 


20 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


[ To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready?[ 

48,  Doughty  Street,  December  1838. 
My  dear  Macready, 

I can  have  but  one  opinion  on  the  subject — withdraw 
the  farce  at  once,  by  all  means. 

I perfectly  concur  in  all  you  say,  and  thank  you  most 
heartily  and  cordially  for  your  kind  and  manly  conduct, 
which  is  only  what  I should  have  expected  from  you  ; 
though,  under  such  circumstances,  I sincerely  believe  there 
are  few  but  you — if  any — who  would  have  adopted  it. 

Believe  me  that  I have  no  other  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment connected  with  this  matter  but  that  arising  from 
the  not  having  been  able  to  be  of  some  use  to  you.  And 
trust  me  that,  if  the  opportunity  should  ever  arrive,  my 
ardour  will  only  be  increased — not  damped — by  the  re- 
sult of  this  experiment. 

Believe  me  always,  my  dear  Macready, 

Faithfully  yours. 

1839. 

NARRATIVE. 

Charles  Dickens  was  still  living  in  Doughty  Street, 
but  he  removed  at  the  end  of  this  year  to  i,  Devonshire 
Terrace,  Regent’s  Park.  He  hired  a cottage  at  Petersham 
for  the  summer  months,  and  in  the  autumn  took  lodgings 
at  Broadstairs. 

The  cottage  at  Alphington,  near  Exeter,  mentioned  in 
the  letter  to  Mr.  Mitton,  was  hired  by  Charles  Dickens  for 
his  parents. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCICENS. 


21 


He  was  at  work  all  through  this  year  on  ^‘Nicholas 
Nickleby/' 

We  have  now  the  commencement  of  his  correspondence 
with  Mr.  George  Cattermole.  His  first  letter  was  written 
immediately  after  Mr.  Cattermole’s  marriage  with  Miss 
Elderton,  a distant  connection  of  Charles  Dickens  ; hence 
the  allusions  to  cousin/'  which  will  be  found  in  many  of 
his  letters  to  Mr.  Cattermole.  The  bride  and  bridegroom 
were  passing  their  honeymoon  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Petersham,  and  the  latter  refers  to  a request  from  them 
for  the  loan  of  some  books,  and  also  to  his  having  lent 
them  his  pony  carriage  and  groom,  during  their  stay  in 
this  neighbourhood. 

The  first  letter  in  this  year  to  Mr.  Macready  is  in  an- 
swer to  one  from  him,  announcing  his  retirement  from  the 
management  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre. 

The  portrait  by  Mr.  Maclise,  mentioned  to  Mr.  Harley, 
was  the,  now,  well-known  one,  which  appeared  as  a front- 
ispiece to  Nicholas  Nickleby." 


[7b  Mr,  W,  C,  Macready?^ 

Doughty  Street,  Sunday, 

My  dear  Macready, 

I will  have,  if  you  please,  three  dozen  of  the  extraordi- 
nary champagne  ; and  I am  much  obliged  to  you  for  rec- 
ollecting me. 

I ought  not  to  be  sorry  to  hear  of  your  abdication,  but 
I am,  notwithstanding,  most  heartily  and  sincerely  sorry, 
for  my  own  sake  and  the  sake  of  thousands,  who  may 
now  go  and  whistle  for  a theatre — at  least,  such  a theatre 
as  you  gave  them  ; and  I do  now  in  my  heart  believe  that 


22 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


for  a long  and  dreary  time  that  exquisite  delight  has 
passed  away.  If  I may  jest  with  my  misfortunes,  and 
quote  the  Portsmouth  critic  of  Mr.  Crummies's  company, 
I say  that  : ‘‘  As  an  exquisite  embodiment  of  the  poet’s 
visions  and  a realization  of  human  intellectuality,  gilding 
with  refulgent  light  our  dreamy  moments,  and  laying  open 
a new  and  magic  world  before  the  mental  eye,  the  drama 
is  gone — perfectly  gone.” 

With  the  same  perverse  and  unaccountable  feeling 
which  causes  a heart-broken  man  at  a dear  friend’s  funeral 
to  see  something  irresistibly  comical  in  a red-nosed  or 
one-eyed  undertaker,  I receive  your  communication  with 
ghostly  facetiousness  ; though  on  a moment’s  reflection  I 
find  better  cause  for  consolation  in  the  hope  that,  relieved 
from  your  most  trying  and  painful  duties,  you  will  now 
have  leisure  to  return  to  pursuits  more  congenial  to  your 
mind,  and  to  move  more  easily  and  pleasantly  among 
your  friends.  In  the  long  catalogue  of  the  latter,  I be- 
lieve that  there  is  not  one  prouder  of  the  name,  or  more 
grateful  for  the  store  of  delightful  recollections  you  have 
enabled  him  to  heap  up  from  boyhood,  than. 

My  dear  Macready, 

Yours  always  faithfully. 


\To  Mr.  Thomas  Mitton.^ 


New  London  Inn,  Exeter, 

Wednesday  Mornings  March  6tky  1839. 


Dear  Tom, 

Perhaps  you  have  heard  from  Kate  that  I succeeded 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


23 


yesterday  in  the  very  first  walk,  and  took  a cottage  at  a 
place  called  Alphington,  one  mile  from  Exeter,  which 
contains,  on  the  ground-floor,  a good  parlor  and  kitchen, 
and  above,  a full-sized  country  drawing-room  and  three 
bedrooms  ; in  the  yard  behind,  coal-holes,  fowl-houses, 
and  meat-safes  out  of  number  ; in  the  kitchen,  a neat 
little  range  ; in  the  other  rooms,  good  stoves  and  cup- 
boards ; and  all  for  twenty  pounds  a year,  taxes  included. 
There  is  a good  garden  at  the  side  well  stocked  with  cab- 
bages, beans,  onions,  celery,  and  some  flowers.  The  stock 
belonging  to  the  landlady  (who  lives  in  the  adjoining  cot- 
tage), there  was  some  question  whether  she  was  not  en- 
titled to  half  the  produce,  but  I settled  the  point  by  paying 
five  shillings,  and  becoming  absolute  master  of  the  whole  ! 

I do  assure  you  that  I am  charmed  with  the  place  and 
the  beauty  of  the  country  round  about,  though  I have  not 
seen  it  under  very  favourable  circumstances,  for  it  snowed 
when  I was  there  this  morning,  and  blew  bitterly  from  the 
east  yesterday.  It  is  really  delightful,  and  when  the  house 
is  to  rights  and  the  furniture  all  in,  I shall  be  quite  sorry 
to  leave  it.  I have  had  some  few  things  second-hand,  but 
I take  it  seventy  pounds  will  be  the  mark,  even  taking 
this  into  consideration.  I include  in  that  estimate  glass 
and  crockery,  garden  tools,  and  such  like  little  things. 
There  is  a spare  bedroom  of  course.  That  I have  fur- 
nished too. 

I am  on  terms  of  the  closest  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Samuell, 
the  landlady,  and  her  brother  and  sister-in-law,  who  have 
a little  farm  hard  by.  They  are  capital  specimens  of 


24 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


country  folks,  and  I really  think  the  old  woman  herself 
will  be  a great  comfort  to  my  mother.  Coals  are  dear  just 
now — twenty-six  shillings  a ton.  They  found  me  a boy  to 
go  two  miles  out  and  back  again  to  order  some  this  morn- 
ing. I was  debating  in  my  mind  whether  I should  give  him 
eighteenpence  or  two  shillings,  when  his  fee  was  announced 
— twopence  ! 

The  house  is  on  the  high  road  to  Plymouth,  and,  though 
in  the  very  heart  of  Devonshire,  there  is  as  much  long- 
stage  and  posting  life  as  you  would  find  in  Piccadilly. 
The  situation  is  charming.  Meadows  in  front,  an  orchard 
running  parallel  to  the  garden  hedge,  richly-wooded  hills 
closing  in  the  prospect  behind,  and,  away  to  the  left,  be- 
fore a splendid  view  of  the  hill  on  which  Exeter  is  situated, 
the  cathedral  towers  rising  up  into  the  sky  in  the  most 
picturesque  manner  possible.  I don’t  think  I ever  saw  so 
cheerful  or  pleasant  a spot.  The  drawing-room  is  nearly, 
if  not  quite,  as  large  as  the  outer  room  of  my  old  chambers 
in  Furnival’s  Inn.  The  paint  and  paper  are  new,  and  the 
place  clean  as  the  utmost  excess  of  snowy  cleanliness 
can  be. 

You  would  laugh  if  you  could  see  me  powdering  away 
with  the  upholsterer,  and  endeavouring  to  bring  about  all 
sorts  of  impracticable  reductions  and  wonderful  arrange- 
ments. He  has  by  him  two  second-hand  carpets  ; the  im- 
portant ceremony  of  trying  the  same  comes  off  at  three 
this  afternoon.  I am  perpetually  going  backwards  and 
forwards.  It  is  two  miles  from  here,  so  I have  plenty  of 
exercise,  which  so  occupies  me  and  prevents  my  being 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


25 


lonely  that  I stopped  at  home  to  read  last  night,  and  shall 
to-night,  although  the  theatre  is  open.  Charles  Kean  has 
been  the  star  for  the  last  two  evenings.  He  was  stopping 
in  this^l)use,  and  went  away  this  morning.  I have  got  his 
sitting-room  now,  which  is  smaller  and  more  comfortable 
than  the  one  I had  before. 

You  will  have  heard  perhaps  that  I wrote  to  my  mother 
to  come  down  to-morrow.  There  are  so  many  things  she 
can  make  comfortable  at  a much  less  expense  than  I could, 
that  I thought  it  best.  If  I had  not,  I could  not  have  re- 
turned on  Monday,  which  I now  hope  to  do,  and  to  be  in 
town  at  half-past  eight. 

Will  you  tell  my  father  that  if  he  could  devise  any 
means  of  bringing  him  down,  I think  it  would  be  a great 
thing  for  him  to  have  Dash,  if  it  be  only  to  keep  down  the 
trampers  and  beggars.  The  cheque  I send  you  below. 

* * * * 


\^To  Mr.  George  Cattermole.^ 

Elm  Cottage,  Petersham,  Wednesday  Morning. 
My  dear  Cattermole, 

Why  is  Peveril  ” lingering  on  my  dusty  shelves  in  town, 
while  my  fair  cousin  and  your  fair  bride  remains  in  bliss- 
ful ignorance  of  his  merits  ? There  he  is,  I grieve  to  say, 
but  there  he  shall  not  be  long,  for  I shall  be  visiting  my 
other  home  on  Saturday  morning,  and  will  bring  him  bodily 
down  and  forward  him  the  moment  he  arrives. 


26 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


Not  having  many  of  my  books  here,  I don’t  find  any 
among  them  which  I think  more  suitable  to  your  purpose 
than  a carpet-bagful  sent  herewith,  containing  the  Italian 
and  German  novelists  (convenient  as  being  easily  ^cen  up 
and  laid  down  again  ; and  I suppose  you  won’t  read  long 
at  a sitting),  Leigh  Hunt’s  Indicator  ” and  Companion  ” 
(which  have  the  same  merit),  Hood’s  Own  ” (complete), 
“A  Legend  of  Montrose,”  and  ‘‘Kenilworth,”  which  I 
have  just  been  reading  with  greater  delight  than  ever,  and 
so  I suppose  everybody  else  must  be  equally  interested  in. 
I have  Goldsmith,  Swift,  Fielding,  Smollett,  and  the  British 
Essayists  “ handy  ; ” and  I need  not  say  that  you  have 
them  on  hand  too,  if  you  like. 

You  know  all  I would  say  from  my  heart  and  soul  on  the 
auspicious  event  of  yesterday  ; but  you  don’t  know  what 
I could  say  about  the  delightful  recollections  I have  of 
your  “ good  lady’s  ” charming  looks  and  bearing,  upon 
which  I discoursed  most  eloquently  here  last  evening,  and 
at  considerable  length.  As  I am  crippled  in  this  respect, 
however,  by  the  suspicion  that  possibly  she  may  be  look- 
ing over  your  shoulder  while  you  read  this  note  (I  would 
lay  a moderate  wager  that  you  have  looked  round  twice  or 
thrice  already),  I shall  content  myself  with  saying  that  I 
am  ever  heartily,  my  dear  Cattermole, 

Hers  and  yours. 

P.S. — My  man  (who  with  his  charge  is  your  man  while 
you  stay  here)  waits  to  know  if  you  have  any  orders  for 
him. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


27 


\To  Mr.  J.  P.  Harley?^ 

Elm  Cottage,  Petersham,  near  Richmond, 

June  2^thj  1839. 

My  dear  Harley, 

I have  left  my  home,”  and  been  here  ever  since  the 
end  of  April,  and  shall  remain  here  most  probably  until  the 
end  of  September,  which  is  the  reason  that  we  have  been 
such  strangers  of  late. 

I am  very  sorry  that  I cannot  dine  with  you  on  Sunday, 
but  some  people  are  coming  here,  and  I cannot  get  away. 
Better  luck  next  time,  I hope. 

I was  on  the  point  of  writing  to  you  when  your  note 
came,  to  ask  you  if  you  would  come  down  here  next  Sat- 
urday— to-morrow  week,  I mean — and  stop  till  Monday. 
I will  either  call  for  you  at  the  theatre,  at  any  time  you 
name,  or  send  for  you,  punctual,”  and  have  you  brought 
down.  Can  you  come  if  it's  fine  ? Say  yes,  like  a good 
fellow  as  you  are,  and  say  it  per  post. 

I have  countermanded  that  face.  Maclise  has  made 
another  face  of  me,  which  all  people  say  is  astonishing. 
The  engraving  will  be  ready  soon,  and  I would  rather  you 
had  that,  as  I am  sure  you  would  if  you  had  seen  it. 

In  great  haste  to  save  the  post,  I am,  my  dear  Harley, 

Faithfully  yours. 

\^To  Mr.  William  Longman^ 

Doughty  Street,  Monday  Morning. 

My  dear  Sir, 

On  Friday  I have  a family  dinner  at  home— uncles, 
aunts,  brothers,  sisters,  cousins — an  annual  gathering. 


28 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


By  what  fatality  is  it  that  you  always  ask  me  to  dine  on 
the  wrong  day  ? 

While  you  are  tracing  this  non-consequence  to  its  cause, 
I wish  you  would  tell  Mr.  Sydney  Smith  that  of  all  the 
men  I ever  heard  of  and  never  saw,  I have  the  greatest 
curiosity  to  see  and  the  greatest  interest  to  know  him. 

Begging  my  best  compliments  at  home, 

I am,  my  dear  Sir, 

Faithfully  yours. 

\To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready.\ 

Petersham,  July  26M,  1839. 

My  dear  Macready, 

Fix  your  visit  for  whenever  you  please.  It  can  never 
give  us  anything  but  delight  to  see  you,  and  it  is  better  to 
look  forward  to  such  a pleasure  than  to  look  back  upon  it, 
as  the  last  gratification  is  enjoyable  all  our  lives,  and  the 
first  for  a few  ‘short  stages  in  the  journey. 

I feel  more  true  and  cordial  pleasure  than  I can  express 
to  you  in  the  request  you  have  made.  Anything  which 
can  serve  to  commemorate  our  friendship  and  to  keep  the 
recollection  of  it  alive  among  our  children  is,  believe  me, 
and  ever  will  be,  most  deeply  prized  by  me.  I accept  the 
office  with  hearty  and  fervent  satisfaction ; and,  to  render 
this  pleasant  bond  between  us  the  more  complete,  I must 
solicit  you  to  become  godfather  to  the  last  and  final 
branch  of  a genteel  small  family  of  three  which  I am  told 
may  be  looked  for  in  that  auspicious  month  when  Lord 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


29 


Mayors  are  born  and  guys  prevail.  This  I look  upon  as  a 
bargain  between  us,  and  I have  shaken  hands  with  you  in 
spirit  upon  it.  Family  topics  remind  me  of  Mr.  Kenwigs. 
As  the  weather  is  wet,  and  he  is  about  to  make  his  last 
appearance  on  my  little  stage,  I send  Mrs.  Macready  an 
early  proof  of  the  next  number,  containing  an  account  of 
his  baby's  progress. 

I am  going  to  send  you  something  else  on  Monday — a 
tragedy.  Don’t  be  alarmed.  I didn’t  write  it,  nor  do  I 
want  it  acted.  A young  Scotch  lady  whom  I don’t  know 
(but  she  is  evidently  very  intelligent  and  accomplished) 
has  sent  me  a translation  of  a German  play,  soliciting  my 
aid  and  advice  in  the  matter  of  its  publication.  Among 
a crowd  of  Germanisms,  there  are  many  things  in  it 
which  are  so  very  striking,  that  I am  sure  it  will  amuse 
you  very  much.  At  least  I think  it  will ; it  has  me.  I 
am  going  to  send  it  back  to  her — when  I come  to 
Elstree  will  be  time  enough  ; and  meantime,  if  you  bestow 
a couple  of  hours  upon  it,  you  will  not  think  them  thrown 
away. 

It’s  a large  parcel,  and  I must  keep  it  here  till  somebody 
goes  up  to  town  and  can  book  it  by  the  coach.  I warrant 
it,  large  as  it  looks,  readable  in  two  hours  ; and  I very 
much  want  to  know  what  you  think  of  the  first  act,  and 
especially  the  opening,  which  seems  to  me  quite  famous. 
The  metre  is  very  odd  and  rough,  but  now  and  then  there’s 
a wildness  in  it  which  helps  the  thing  very  much  ; and 
altogether  it  has  left  a something  on  my  mind  which  I 
can’t  get  rid  of. 


30 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


Mrs.  Dickens  joins  with  me  in  kindest  regards  to  your- 
self, Mrs.,  and  Miss  Macready.  And  I am  always. 

My  dear  Macready, 

Faithfully  and  truly  yours. 

P.S. — A dreadful  thought  has  just  occurred  to  me — that 
this  is  a quadruple  letter,  and  that  Elstree  may  not  be 
within  the  twopenny  post.  Pray  Heaven  my  fears  are  un- 
founded. 

\To  Mr,  W,  C.  Macready^ 

40,  Albion  Street,  Broadstairs, 

September  2U/,  1839. 

My  dear  Macready, 

I am  so  anxious  to  prefer  a request  to  you  which  does 
not  admit  of  delay  that  I send  you  a double  letter,  with 
the  one  redeeming  point  though  of  having  very  little  in  it. 

Let  me  prefix  to  the  last  number  of  Nickleby,’'  and  to 
the  book,  a duplicate  of  the  leaf  which  I now  send  you. 
Believe  me  that  there  will  be  no  leaf  in  the  volume  which 
will  afford  me  in  times  to  come  more  true  pleasure  and 
gratification,  than  that  in  which  I have  written  your  name 
as  foremost  among  those  of  the  friends  whom  I love  and 
honour.  Believe  me,  there  will  be  no  one  line  in  it  con- 
veying a more  honest  truth  or  a more  sincere  feeling  than 
that  which  describes  its  dedication  to  you  as  a slight  tok^ 
of  my  admiration  and  regard. 

So  let  me  tell  the  world  by  this  frail  record  that  I was 
a friend  of  yours,  and  interested  to  no  ordinary  extent 
in  your  proceedings  at  that  interesting  time  when  you 


LETTERS  OF  CH ARISES  DICKENS. 


showed  them  such  noble  truths  in  such  noble  forms,  and 
gave  me  a new  interest  in,  and  associations  with,  the  la- 
bours of  so  many  months. 

I write  to  you  very  hastily  and  crudely,  for  I have  been 
very  hard  at  work,  having  only  finished  to-day,  and  my 
head  spins  yet.  But  you  know  what  I mean.  I am  then 
always, 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Macready, 

Faithfully  yours. 

P.S. — (Proof  of  Dedication  enclosed):  ‘‘To  W.  C. 
Macready,  Esq.,  the  following  pages  are  inscribed,  as  a 
slight  token  of  admiration  and  regard,  by  his  friend,  the 
Author.^* 


\To  Mr,  W,  C.  Macready 

Doughty  Street,  Friday  Night,  Oct.  i^th,  1839. 
My  dear  Macready, 

The  book,  the  whole  book,  and  nothing  but  the  book 
(except  the  binding,  which  is  an  important  item),  has  ar- 
rived at  last,  and  is  forwarded  herewith.  The  red  repre- 
sents my  blushes  at  its  gorgeous  dress ; the  gilding,  all 
those  bright  professions  which  I do  not  make  to  you  ; and 
the  book  itself,  my  whole  heart  for  twenty  months,  which 
should  be  yours  for  so  short  a term,  as  you  have  it  always. 

With  best  regards  to  Mrs.  and  Miss  Macready,  always 
believe  me, 

My  dear  Macready, 

Your  faithful  Friend. 


32 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


\^To  Mr,  W,  C.  Macready?[ 

Doughty  Street,  Thursday,  Nov,  1839. 
My  dear  Macready, 

Tom  Landseer — that  is,  the  deaf  one,  whom  everybody 
quite  loves  for  his  sweet  nature  under  a most  deplorable 
infirmity — Tom  Landseer  asked  me  if  I would  present  to 
you  from  him  the  accompanying  engraving,  which  he  has 
executed  from  a picture  by  his  brother  Edwin  ; submitting 
it  to  you  as  a little  tribute  from  an  unknown  but  ardent 
admirer  of  your  genius,  which  speaks  to  his  heart,  although 
it  does  not  find  its  way  there  through  his  ears.  I readily 
undertook  the  task,  and  send  it  herewith. 

I urged  him  to  call  upori  you  with  me  and  proffer  it 
boldly ; but  he  is  a very  modest  and  delicately-minded 
creature,  and  was  shy  of  intruding.  If  you  thank  him 
through  me,  perhaps  you  will  say  something  about  my 
bringing  him  to  call,  and  so  gladden  the  gentle  artist  and 
make  him  happy. 

You  must  come  and  see  my  new  house  when  we  have  it 
to  rights.  By  Christmas  Day  we  shall  be,  I hope,  your 
neighbours. 

Kate  progresses  splendidly,  and,  with  me,  sends  her  best 
remembrances  to  Mrs.  Macready  and  all  your  house. 

Ever  believe  me. 

Dear  Macready, 

Faithfully  yours. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


33 


1840. 

NARRATIVE. 

Charles  Dickens  was  at  Broadstairs  with  his  family 
for  the  autumn  months.  During  all  this  year  he  was  busily 
engaged  with  the  periodical  entitled  “ Master  Humphrey's 
Clock,"  in  which  the  story  of  “ The  Old  Curiosity  Shop 
subsequently  appeared.  Nearly  all  these  letters  to  Mr. 
George  Cattermole  refer  to  the  illustrations  for  this  story. 

The  one  dated  March  9th  alludes  to  short  papers  writ- 
ten for  Master  Humphrey’s  Clock  ’’  prior  to  the  com- 
mencement of  ^‘The  Old  Curiosity  Shop." 

We  have  in  this  year  Charles  Dickens’s  first  letter  to 
Mr.  Daniel  Maclise,  this  and  one  other  being,  unfortunately, 
the  only  letters  we  have  been  able  to  obtain  addressed  to 
this  much-loved  friend  and  most  intimate  companion. 

\To  Mr,  George  Cattermole^^ 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace, 

Monday^  January  13^/^,  1840. 

My  dear  Cattermole, 

I am  going  to  propound  a mightily  grave  matter  to  you. 
My  new  periodical  work  appears — or  I should  rather  say 
the  first  number  does— on  Saturday,  the  28th  of  March  ; 
and  as  it  has  to  be  sent  to  America  and  Germany,  and 
must  therefore  be  considerably  in  advance,  it  is  now  in 
hand  ; I having  in  fact  begun  it  on  Saturday  last.  Instead 
of  being  published  in  monthly  parts  at  a shilling  each  only, 
it  will  be  published  in  weekly  parts  at  threepence  and 
monthly  parts  at  a shilling  ; my  object  being  to  baffle  the 
imitators  and  make  it  as  novel  as  possible.  The  plan  is 


34 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


a new  one — I mean  the  plan  of  the  fiction — and  it  will 
comprehend  a great  variety  of  tales.  The  title  is  : Mas- 

ter Humphrey's  Clock." 

Now,  among  other  improvements,  I have  turned  my 
attention  to  the  illustrations,  meaning  to  have  woodcuts 
dropped  into  the  text  and  no  separate  plates.  I want  to 
know  whether  you  would  object  to  make  me  a little  sketch 
for  a woodcut — in  indian-ink  would  be  quite  sufficient — 
about  the  size  of  the  enclosed  scrap  ; the  subject,  an  old 
quaint  room  with  antique  Elizabethan  furniture,  and  in  the 
chimney-corner  an  extraordinary  old  clock — the  clock  be- 
longing to  Master  Humphrey,  in  fact,  and  no  figures.  This 
I should  drop  into  the  text  at  the  head  of  my  opening  page. 

I want  to  know  besides — as  Chapman  and  Hall  are  my 
partners  in  the  matter,  there  need  be  no  delicacy  about 
my  asking  or  your  answering  the  question — what  would  be 
your  charge  for  such  a thing,  and  whether  (if  the  work 
answers  our  expectations)  you  would  like  to  repeat  the  joke 
at  regular  intervals,  and,  if  so,  on  what  terms  ? I should 
tell  you  that  I intend  to  ask  Maclise  to  join  me  likewise, 
and  that  the  copying  the  drawing  on  wood  and  the  cutting 
will  be  done  in  first-rate  style.  We  are  justified  by  past 
experience  in  supposing  that  the  sale  would  be  enormous, 
and  the  popularity  very  great ; and  when  I explain  to  you 
the  notes  I have  in  my  head,  I think  you  will  see  that  it 
opens  a vast  number  of  very  good  subjects. 

I want  to  talk  the  matter  over  with  you,  and  wish  you 
would  fix  your  own  time  and  place — either  here  or  at  your 
house  or  at  the  Athenaeum,  though  this  would  be  the  best 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


35 


place,  because  I have  my  papers  about  me.  If  you  would 
take  a chop  with  me,  for  instance,  on  Tuesday  or  Wednes- 
day, I could  tell  you  more  in  two  minutes  than  in  twenty 
letters,  albeit  I have  endeavoured  to  make  this  as  business- 
like and  stupid  as  need  be. 

Of  course  all  these  tremendous  arrangements  are  as  yet 
a profound  secret,  or  there  would  be  fifty  Humphreys  in 
the  field.  So  write  me  a line  like  a worthy  gentleman,  and 
convey  my  best  remembrances  to  your  worthy  lady. 

Believe  me  always,  my  dear  Cattermole, 

Faithfully  yours. 


\To Mr.  George  Cattermole^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Tuesday  Afternoon. 
My  dear  Cattermole, 

I think  the  drawing  most  famous,  and  so  do  the  publish- 
ers, to  whom  I sent  it  to-day.  If  Browne  should  suggest 
anything  for  the  future  which  may  enable  him  to  do  you 
justice  in  copying  (on  which  point  he  is  very  anxious),  I 
will  communicate  it  to  you.  It  has  occurred  to  me  that 
perhaps  you  will  like  to  see  his  copy  on  the  block  before 
it  is  cut,  and  I have  therefore  told  Chapman  and  Hall  to 
forward  it  to  you. 

In  future,  I will  take  care  that  you  have  the  number  to 
choose  your  subject  from.  I ought  to  have  done  so,  per- 
haps, in  this  case  ; but  I was  very  anxious  that  you  should 
do  the  room. 

Perhaps  the  shortest  plan  will  be  for  me  to  send  you,  as 


36 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


enclosed,  regularly  ; but  if  you  prefer  keeping  account  with 
the  publishers,  they  will  be  happy  to  enter  upon  it  when, 
where,  and  how  you  please. 

Faithfully  yours  always. 

[7b  Mr,  George  Cattermole^ 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace, 

Monday^  March  1840. 

My  dear  Cattermole, 

I have  been  induced,  on  looking  over  the  works  of  the 
Clock,”  to  make  a slight  alteration  in  their  disposal,  by 
virtue  of  which  the  story  about  John  Podgers  ” will 
stand  over  for  some  little  time,  and  that  short  tale  will  oc- 
cupy its  place  which  you  have  already  by  you,  and  which 
treats  of  the  assassination  of  a young  gentleman  under 
circumstances  of  peculiar  aggravation.  I shall  be  greatly 
obliged  to  you  if  you  will  turn  your  attention  to  this  last 
morsel  as  the  feature  of  No.  3,  and  still  more  if  you  can 
stretch  a point  with  regard  to  time  (which  is  of  the  last 
importance  just  now),  and  make  a subject  out  of  it,  rather 
than  find  one  in  it.  I would  neither  have  made  this  altera- 
tion nor  have  troubled  you  about  it,  but  for  weighty  and 
cogent  reasons  which  I feel  very  strongly,  and  into  the 
composition  of  which  caprice  or  fastidiousness  has  no  part. 

I should  tell  you  perhaps,  with  reference  to  Chapman 
and  Hall,  that  they  will  never  trouble  you  (as  they  never 
trouble  me)  but  when  there  is  real  and  pressing  occasion, 
and  that  their  representations  in  this  respect,  unlike  those 
of  most  men  of  business,  are  to  be  relied  upon. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


37 


I cannot  tell  you  how  admirably  I think  Master  Hum- 
phrey's room  comes  out,  or  what  glowing  accounts  I hear 
of  the  second  design  you  have  done.  I had  not  the  faint- 
est anticipation  of  anything  so  good — taking  into  account 
the  material  and  the  despatch. 

With  best  regards  at  home, 

Believe  me,  dear  Cattermole, 

Heartily  yours. 

P.S. — The  new  (No.  3)  tale  begins  : I hold  a lieuten- 

ant’s commission  in  his  Majesty’s  army,  and  served  abroad 
in  the  campaigns  of  1677  and  1678.”  It  has  at  present  no 
title. 

[ To  Mr.  S.  A.  Diezman?)^ 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate,  Regent’s  Park, 

London,  \oth  March,  1840. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I will  not  attempt  to  tell  you  how  much  gratified  I have 
been  by  the  receipt  of  your  first  English  letter ; nor  can  I 
describe  to  you  with  what  delight  and  gratification  I learn 
that  I am  held  in  such  high  esteem  by  your  great  country- 
men, whose  favourable  appreciation  is  flattering  indeed. 

To  you,  who  have  undertaken  the  laborious  (and  often, 
I fear,  very  irksome)  task  of  clothing  me  in  the  German 
garb,  I owe  a long  arrear  of  thanks.  I wish  you  would 
come  to  England,  and  afford  me  an  opportunity  of  slightly 
reducing  the  account. 

It  is  with  great  regret  that  I have  to  inform  you,  in  re- 
ply to  the  request  contained  in  your  pleasant  communica- 


38 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


tion,  that  my  publishers  have  already  made  such  arrange- 
ments and  are  in  possession  of  such  stipulations  relative 
to  the  proof-sheets  of  my  new  works,  that  I have  no  power 
to  send  them  out  of  England.  If  I had,  I need  not  tell 
you  what  pleasure  it  would  afford  me  to  promote  your 
views. 

I am  too  sensible  of  the  trouble  you  must  have  already 
had  with  my  writings  to  impose  upon  you  now  a long  let- 
ter. I will  only  add,  therefore,  that  I am. 

My  dear  Sir, 

With  great  sincerity. 

Faithfully  yours. 

[7b  Mr.  Daniel  Maclise.^ 

Broadstairs,  June  2nd,  1840. 

My  dear  Maclise, 

My  foot,  is  in  the  house, 

My  bath  is  on  the  sea, 

And,  before  J take  a souse, 

Here’s  a single  note  to  thee. 

It  merely  says  that  the  sea  is  in  a state  of  extraordinary 
sublimity  ; that  this  place  is,  as  the  Guide  Book  most  justly 
observes,  unsurpassed  for  the  salubrity  of  the  refreshing 
breezes,  which  are  wafted  on  the  ocean’s  pinions  from  far- 
distant  shores.”  That  we  are  all  right  after  the  perils  and 
voyages  of  yesterday.  That  the  sea  is  rolling  away  in  front 
of  the  window  at  which  I indite  this  epistle,  and  that 
everything  is  as  fresh  and  glorious  as  fine  weather  and  a 
splendid  coast  can  make  it.  Bear  these  recommendations 
in  mind,  and  shunning  Talfourdian  pledges,  come  to  the 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


39 


bower  which  is  shaded  for  you  in  the  one-pair  front,  where 
no  chair  or  table  has  four  legs  of  the  same  length,  and 
where  no  drawers  will  open  till  you  have  pulled  the  pegs 
off,  and  then  they  keep  open  and  won’t  shut  again. 

Come  ! 

I can  no  more. 

Always  faithfully  yours. 

[7h  Mr.  George  Cattermole.^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  December  o.\st. 

My  DEAR  George, 

Kit,  the  single  gentleman,  and  Mr.  Garland  go  down  to 
the  place  where  the  child  is,  and  arrive  there  at  night. 
There  has  been  a fall  of  snow.  Kit,  leaving  them  behind, 
runs  to  the  old  house,  and,  with  a lanthorn  in  one  hand 
and  the  bird  in  its  cage  in  the  other,  stops  for  a moment  at 
a little  distance  with  a natural  hesitation  before  he  goes  up 
to  make  his  presence  known.  In  a window — supposed  to 
be  that  of  the  child’s  little  room — a light  is  burning,  and 
in  that  room  the  child  (unknown,  of  course,  to  her  visitors 
who  are  full  of  hope)  lies  dead. 

If  you  have  any  difficulty  about  Kit,  never  mind  about 
putting  him  in. 

The  two  others  to-morrow. 

Faithfully  always. 

[7h  Mr.  George  Cattermole?[ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Friday  Morning. 
My  dear  Cattermole, 

I sent  the  MS.  of  the  enclosed  proof,  marked  2,  up  to 


40 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


Chapman  and  Hall,  from  Devonshire,  mentioning  a subject 
of  an  old  gateway,  which  I had  put  in  expressly  with  a view 
to  your  illustrious  pencil.  By  a mistake,  however,  it  went 
to  Browne  instead.  Chapman  is  out  of  town,  and  such 
things  have  gone  wrong  in  consequence. 

The  subject  to  which  I wish  to  call  your  attention  is  in 
an  unwritten  number  to  follow  this  one,  but  it  is  a mere 
echo  of  what  you  will  find  at  the  conclusion  of  this  proof 
marked  2,  I want  the  cart,  gaily  decorated,  going  through 
the  street  of  the  old  town  with  the  wax  brigand  displayed 
to  fierce  advantage,  and  the  child  seated  in  it  also  dispers- 
ing bills.  As  many  flags  and  inscriptions  about  Jarley’s 
Wax  Work  fluttering  from  the  cart  as  you  please.  You 
know  the  wax  brigands,  and  how  they  contemplate  small 
oval  miniatures } That's  the  figure  I want.  I send  you 
the  scrap  of  MS.  which  contains  the  subject. 

Will  you,  when  you  have  done  this,  send  it  with  all  speed 
to  Chapman  and  Hall,  as  we  are  mortally  pressed  for  time, 
and  I must  go  hard  to  work  to  make  up  for  what  I have 
lost  by  being  dutiful  and  going  to  see  my  father. 

I want  to  see  you  about  a frontispiece  to  our  first  ‘‘  Clock 
volume,  which  will  come  out  (I  think)  at  the  end  of  Sep- 
tember, and  about  other  matters.  When  shall  we  meet  and' 
where  ? 

I say  nothing  about  our  cousin  or  the  baby,  for  Kate 
bears  this,  and  will  make  me  a full  report  and  convey  all 
loves  and  congratulations. 

Could  you  dine  with  us  on  Sunday,  at  six  o’clock  sharp  ? 
I’d  come  and  fetch  you  in  the  morning,  and  we  could  take 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


41 


a ride  and  walk.  We  shall  be  quite  alone,  unless  Macready 
comes.  What  say  you  ? 

Don’t  forget  despatch,  there’s  a dear  fellow,  and  ever  be- 
lieve me, 

Heartily  yours. 

[7b  Mr,  George  Cattermole.^ 

December  iind.,  1840. 

Dear  George, 

The  child  lying  dead  in  the  little  sleeping-room,  which 
is  behind  the  open  screen.  It  is  winter  time,  so  there  are 
no  flowers  ; but  upon  her  breast  and  pillow,  and  about  her 
bed,  there  may  be  strips  of  holly  and  berries,  and  such  free 
green  things.  Window  overgrown  with  ivy.  The  little 
boy  who  had  that  talk  with  her  about  angels  may  be  by  the 
bedside,  if  you  like  it  so  ; but  I think  it  will  be  quieter  and 
more  peaceful  if  she  is  quite  alone.  I want  it  to  express 
the  most  beautiful  repose  and  tranquillity,  and  to  have 
something  of  a happy  look,  if  death  can. 


2. 

The  child  has  been  buried  inside  the  church,  and  the  old 
man,  who  cannot  be  made  to  understand  that  she  is  dead, 
repairs  to  the  grave  and  sits  there  all  day  long,  waiting  for 
her  arrival,  to  begin  another  journey.  His  staff  and  knap- 
sack, her  little  bonnet  and  basket,  etc.,  lie  beside  him. 

She’ll  come  to-morrow,”  he  says  when  it  gets  dark,  and 
goes  sorrowfully  home.  I think  an  hour-glass  running 


42 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


out  would  help  the  notion  ; perhaps  her  little  things  upon 
his  knee,  or  in  his  hand. 

I am  breaking  my  heart  over  this  story,  and  cannot  bear 
to  finish  it. 

Love  to  Missis. 

Ever  and  always  heartily. 


1841. 

NARRATIVE. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year  Charles  Dickens  made,  ac- 
companied by  Mrs.  Dickens,  his  first  visit  to  Scotland,  and 
was  received  in  Edinburgh  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm. 

He  was  at  Broadstairs  with  his  family  for  the  autumn, 
and  at  the  close  of  the  year  he  went  to  Windsor  for  change 
of  air  after  a serious  illness. 

On  the  17th  January  “The  Old  Curiosity  Shop  ” was 
finished.  In  the  following  week  the  first  number  of  his 
story  of  “ Barnaby  Rudge  ’’  appeared,  in  “ Master  Hum- 
phrey’s Clock,”  and  the  last  number  of  this  story  was  writ- 
ten at  Windsor,  in  November  of  this  year. 

We  have  the  first  letters  to  his  dear  and  valued  friends 
the  Rev.  William  Harness  and  Mr.  Harrison  Ainsworth. 
Also  his  first  letter  to  Mr.  Monckton  Milnes  (now  Lord 
Houghton). 

Of  the  letter  to  Mr.  John  Tomlin  we  would  only  remark, 
that  it  was  published  in  an  American  Magazine,  edited  by 
Mr.  E.  A.  Poe,  in  the  year  1842. 

“ The  New  First  Rate  ” (first  letter  to  Mr.  Harrison 
Ainsworth)  must,  we  think,  be  an  allusion  to  the  outside 
cover  of  “ Bentley’s  Miscellany,”  which  first  appeared  in 
this  year,  and  of  which  Mr.  Ainsworth  was  editor. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


43 


The  two  letters  to  Mr.  Love  joy  are  in  answer  to  a re- 
quisition from  the  people  of  Reading  that  he  would  repre- 
sent them  in  Parliament. 

The  letter  to  Mr.  George  Cattermole  (26th  June)  refers 
to  a dinner  given  to  Charles  Dickens  by  the  people  of 
Edinburgh,  on  his  first  visit  to  that  city. 

The  poor  Overs,’’  mentioned  in  the  letter  to  Mr.  Mac- 
ready  of  24th  August,  was  a carpenter  dying  of  consump- 
tion, to  whom  Dr.  Elliotson  had  shown  extraordinary 
kindness.  ^^When  poor  Overs  was  dying”  (wrote  Charles 
Dickens  to  Mr.  Forster),  he  suddenly  asked  for  a pen 
and  ink  and  some  paper,  and  made  up  a little  parcel  for 
me,  which  it  was  his  last  conscious  act  to  direct.  She  (his 
wife)  told  me  this,  and  gave  it  me.  I opened  it  last  night. 
It  was  a copy  of  his  little  book,  in  which  he  had  written 
my  name,  ^ with  his  devotion.’  I thought  it  simple  and 
affecting  of  the  poor  fellow.” 

“ The  Saloon,”  alluded  to  in  our  last  letter  of  this  year, 
was  an  institution  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre  during  Mr. 
Macready’s  management.  The  original  purpose  for  which 
this  saloon  was  established  having  become  perverted  and 
degraded,  Charles  Dickens  had  it  much  at  heart  to  re- 
model and  improve  it.  Hence  this  letter  to  Mr.  Macready. 

[ To  Rev.  William  Harnessl\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Saturday  Morning,  Jan.  2nd,  1841. 
My  dear  Harness, 

I should  have  been  very  glad  to  join  your  pleasant 
party,  but  all  next  week  I shall  be  laid  up  with  a broken 
heart,  for  I must  occupy  myself  in  finishing  the  Curiosity 
Shop,”  and  it  is  such  a painful  task  to  me  that  I must  con- 
centrate myself  upon  it  tooth  and  nail,  and  go  out  nowhere 
until  it  is  done. 


44 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


I have  delayed  answering  your  kind  note  in  a vague 
hope  of  being  heart-whole  again  by  the  seventh.  The 
present  state  of  my  work,  however  (Christmas  not  being  a 
very  favourable  season  for  making  progress  in  such  doings), 
assures  me  that  this  cannot  be,  and  that  I must  heroically 
deny  myself  the  pleasure  you  offer. 

Always  believe  me, 

Faithfully  yours. 

\To  Mr,  George  Cattermole^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Thursday,  Jan,  14M,  1841. 
My  dear  Cattermole, 

I cannot  tell  you  how  much  obliged  I am  to  you  for 
altering  the  child,  or  how  much  I hope  that  my  wish  in 
that  respect  didn’t  go  greatly  against  the  grain. 

I saw  the  old  inn  this  morning.  Words  cannot  say  how 
good  it  is.  I can’t  bear  the  thought  of  its  being  cut,  and 
should  like  to  frame  and  glaze  it  in  statu  quo  for  ever  and 
ever. 

Will  you  do  a little  tail-piece  for  the  Curiosity  ” story  ? 
— only  one  figure  if  you  like — giving  some  notion  of  the 
etherealised  spirit  of  the  child  ; something  like  those  little 
figures  in  the  frontispiece.  If  you  will,  and  can  despatch 
it  at  once,  you  will  make  me  happy. 

I am,  for  the  time  being,  nearly  dead  with  work  and 
grief  for  the  loss  of  my  child. 

Always,  my  dear  George, 

Heartily  yours. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


45 


\^To  Mr.  George  Cattermole?)^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Thursday  Night,  Jan.  2%th,  1841. 
My  dear  George, 

I sent  lo  Chapman  and  Hall  yesterday  moriiing  about 
the  second  subject  for  No.  2 of  Barnaby,”  but  found 
they  had  sent  it  to  Browne. 

The  first  subject  of  No.  3 I will  either  send  to  you  on 
Saturday,  or,  at  latest,  on  Sunday  morning.  I have  also 
directed  Chapman  and  Hall  to  send  you  proofs  of  what 
has  gone  before,  for  reference,  if  you  need  it. 

I want  to  know  whether  you  feel  ravens  in  general  and 
would  fancy  Barnaby’s  raven  in  particular.  Barnaby  being 
an  idiot,  my  notion  is  to  have  him  always  in  company  with 
a pet  raven,  who  is  immeasurably  more  knowing  than  him- 
self. To  this  end  I have  been  studying  my  bird,  and 
think  I could  make  a very  queer  character  of  him.  Should 
you  like  the  subject  when  this  raven  makes  his  first  ap- 
pearance ? 

Faithfully  always. 


\ To  Mr.  George  Catter mole 
Devonshire  Terrace,  Saturday  Evening,  Jan.  30th,  1841. 
My  dear  George, 

I send  you  the  first  four  slips  of  No.  48,  containing  the 
description  of  the  locksmith’s  house,  which  I think  will 
make  a good  subject,  and  one  you  will  like.  If  you  put 


46 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


the  “ ’prentice  ” in  it,  show  nothing  more  than  his  paper 
cap,  because  he  will  be  an  important  character  in  the 
story,  and  you  will  need  to  know  more  about  him  as  he  is 
minutely  described.  I may  as  well  say  that  he  is  very  short. 
Should  you  wish  to  put  the  locksmith  in,  you  will  find  him 
described  in  No.  2 of  Barnaby  ” (which  I told  Chapman 
and  Hall  to  send  you).  Browne  has  done  him  in  one 
little  thing,  but  so  very  slightly  that  you  will  not  require  to 
see  his  sketch,  I think. 

Now,  I must  know  what  you  think  about  the  raven,  my 
buck ; I otherwise  am  in  this  fix.  I have  given  Browne 
no  subject  for  this  number,  and  time  is  flying.  If  you 
would  like  to  have  the  raven’s  first  appearance,  and  don’t 
object  to  having  both  subjects,  so  be  it.  I shall  be  de- 
lighted. If  otherwise,  I must  feed  that  hero  forthwith. 

I cannot  close  this  hasty  note,  my  dear  fellow,  without 
saying  that  I have  deeply  felt  your  hearty  and  most  in- 
valuable co-operation  in  the  beautiful  illustrations  you  have 
made  for  the  last  story,  that  I look  at  them  with  a pleasure 
I cannot  describe  to  you  in  words,  and  that  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  me  to  say  how  sensible  I am  of  your  earnest  and 
friendly  aid.  Believe  me  that  this  is  the  very  first  time 
any  designs  for  what  I have  written  have  touched  and 
moved  me,  and  caused  me  to  feel  that  they  expressed  the 
idea  I had  in  my  mind. 

I am  most  sincerely  and  affectionately  grateful  to  you, 
and  am  full  of  pleasure  and  delight. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Cattermo, 

Always  heartily  yours. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


47 


\^To  Mr.  John  Tomlin^ 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate,  Regent’s  Park, 

London,  Tuesday,  Feb.  23^/,  1841. 

Dear  Sir, 

You  are  quite  right  in  feeling  assured  that  I should 
answer  the  letter  you  have  addressed  to  me.  If  you  had 
entertained  a presentiment  that  it  would  afford  me  sincere 
pleasure  and  delight  to  hear  from  a warm-hearted  and  ad- 
miring reader  of  my  books  in  the  backwoods  of  America, 
you  would  not  have  been  far  wrong. 

I thank  you  cordially  and  heartily  both  for  your  letter 
and  its  kind  and  courteous  terms.  To  think  that  I have 
awakened  a fellow-feeling  and  sympathy  with  the  crea- 
tures of  many  thoughtful  hours  among  the  vast  solitudes  in 
which  you  dwell,  is  a source  of  the  purest  delight  and  pride 
to  me  ; and  believe  me  that  your  expressions  of  affection- 
ate remembrance  and  approval,  sounding  from  the  green 
forests  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  sink  deeper  into  my 
heart  and  gratify  it  more  than  all  the  honorary  distinctions 
that  all  the  courts  in  Europe  could  confer. 

It  is  such  things  as  these  that  make  one  hope  one  does 
not  live  in  vain,  and  that  are  the  highest  reward  of  an 
author's  life.  To  be  numbered  among  the  household  gods 
of  one's  distant  countrymen,  and  associated  with  their 
homes  and  quiet  pleasures  ; to  be  told  that  in  each  nook 
and  corner  of  the  world's  great  mass  there  lives  one  well- 
wisher  who  holds  communion  with  one  in  the  spirit,  is  a 
worthy  fame  indeed,  and  one  which  I would  not  barter  for 
a mine  of  wealth. 


48 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


That  I may  be  happy  enough  to  cheer  some  of  your 
leisure  hours  for  a very  long  time  to  come,  and  to  hold 
a place  in  your  pleasant  thoughts  is  the  earnest  wish  of 

Boz.” 

And,  with  all  good  wishes  for  yourself,  and  with  a sin- 
cere reciprocation  of  all  your  kindly  feeling, 

I am,  dear  Sir, 

Faithfully  yours. 

\To  Mr,  R.  Monckton  Milnes.^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Wednesday ^ March  lothy  1841. 
My  dear  Milnes, 

I thank  you  very  much  for  the  ‘‘  Nickleby  ” correspond- 
ence, which  I will  keep  for  a day  or  two,  and  return  when 
I see  you.  Poor  fellow  ! The  long  letter  is  quite  admira- 
ble and  most  affecting. 

I am  not  quite  sure  either  of  Friday  or  Saturday,  for, 
independently  of  the  Clock”  (which  for  ever  wants  wind- 
ing), I am  getting  a young  brother  off  to  New  Zealand  just 
now,  and  have  my  mornings  sadly  cut  up  in  consequence. 
But,  knowing  your  ways,  I know  I may  say  that  I will 
come  if  I can  ; and  that  if  I can’t  I won’t. 

That  Nellicide  was  the  act  of  Heaven,  as  you  may  see 
any  of  these  fine  mornings  when  you  look  about  you.  If 
you  knew  the  pain  it  gave  me — but  what  am  I talking  of  ? 
if  you  don’t  know,  nobody  does.  I am  glad  to  shake  you 
by  the  hand  again  autographically. 

And  am  always. 

Faithfully  yours. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


49 


\^To  Mr.  George  Cattermole.^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Tuesday,  February  c^th. 
My  dear  George, 

My  notes  tread  upon  each  other’s* heels.  In  my  last  I 
quite  forgot  business. 

Will  you,  for  No.  49,  do  the  locksmith’s  house,  which 
was  described  in  No.  48  ? I mean  the  outside.  If  you 
can  without  hurting  the  effect,  shut  up  the  shop  as  though 
it  were  night  so  much  the  better.  Should  you  want  a fig- 
ure, an  ancient  watchman  in  or  out  of  his  box,  very  sleepy, 
will  be  just  the  thing  for  me. 

I have  written  to  Chapman  and  requested  him  to  send 
you  a block  of  a long  shape,  so  that  the  house  may  come 
upright  as  it  were. 

Faithfully  ever. 

iTo  Mr.  George  Cattermole.^ 

Old  Ship  Hotel,  Brighton,  Feb.  1841. 
My  dear  Kittenmoles, 

I passed  your  house  on  Wednesday,  being  then  atop  of 
the  Brighton  Era  ; but  there  was  nobody  at  the  door,  sav- 
ing a solitary  poulterer,  and  all  my  warm-hearted  aspira- 
tions lodged  in  the  goods  he  was  delivering.  No  doubt 
you  observed  a peculiar  relish  in  your  dinner.  That  was 
the  cause. 

I send  you  the  MS.  I fear  you  will  have  to  read  all  the 
five  slips  ; but  the  subject  I think  of  is  at  the  top  of  the 
last,  when  the  guest,  with  his  back  towards  the  spectator, 
3 


50 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  ^ 


is  looking  out  of  window.  I think,  in  your  hands,  it  will 
be  a very  pretty  one. 

Then,  iny  boy,  when  you  have  done  it,  turn  your 
thoughts  (as  soon  as  other  engagements  will  allow)  first 
to  the  outside  of  The  Warren — see  No.  i ; secondly,  to 
the  outside  of  the  locksmith’s  house,  by  night — see  No.  3. 
Put  a penny  pistol  to  Chapman’s  head  and  demand  the 
blocks  of  him. 

I have  addled  my  head  with  writing  all  day,  and  have 
barely  wit  enough  left  to  send  my  love  to  my  cousin,  and 
— there’s  a genealogical  poser — what  relation  of  mine  may 
the  dear  little  child  be  ? At  present  I desire  to  be  com- 
mended to  her  clear  blue  eyes. 

Always,  my  dear  George, 

Faithfully  yours, 


[7b  Mr.  William  Harrison  Ainsworthl\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  April  2gt/ij  1841. 
My  dear  Ainsworth, 

With  all  imaginable  pleasure.  I quite  look  forward  to 
the  day.  It  is  an  age  since  we  met,  and  it  ought  not  to  be. 

The  artist  has  just  sent  home  your  “Nickleby.”  He 
suggested  variety,  pleading  his  fancy  and  genius.  As  an 
artful  binder  must  have  his  way,  I put  the  best  face  on  the 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICLCENS.  5 I 

matter,  and  gave  him  his.  I will  bring  it  together  with  the 
Pickwick  ” to  your  house-warming  with  me. 

The  old  Royal  George  went  down  in  consequence  of 
having  too  much  weight  on  one  side.  I trust  the  new 
First  Rate  won’t  be  heavy  anywhere.  There  seems  to 
me  to  be  too  much  whisker  for  a shilling,  but  that’s  a mat- 
ter of  taste. 

Faithfully  yours  always. 

[7h  Mr.  G.  Lovejoy.'] 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate,  Regent’s  Park, 

Monday  Evening,  May  31^/,  1841. 

Sir, 

I am  much  obliged  and  flattered  by  the  receipt  of  your 
letter,  which  I should  have  answered  immediately  on  its 
arrival  but  for  my  absence  from  home  at  the  moment. 

My  principles  and  inclinations  would  lead  me  to  aspire 
to  the  distinction  you  invite  me  to  seek,  if  there  were  any 
reasonable  chance  of  success,  and  I hope  I should  do  no 
discredit  to  such  an  honour  if  I won  and  wore  it.  But  I 
am  bound  to  add,  and  I have  no  hesitation  in  saying 
plainly,  that  I cannot  afford  the  expense  of  a contested 
election.  If  I could,  I would  act  on  your  suggestion  in- 
stantly. I am  not  the  less  indebted  to  you  and  the  friends 
to  whom  the  thought  occurred,  for  your  good  opinion  and 
approval.  I beg  you  to  understand  that  I am  restrained 
solely  (and  much  against  my  will)  by  the  consideration  I 
have  mentioned,  and  thank  both  you  and  them  most 
warmly. 


Yours  faithfully. 


52 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


/ 


\^To  Mr.  G.  Lovejoy.\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  June  loth,  1841. 

Dear  Sir, 

I am  favoured  with  your  note  of  yesterday’s  date,  and 
lose  no  time  in  replying  to  it. 

The  sum  you  mention,  though  small  I am  aware  in  the 
abstract,  is  greater  than  I could  afford  for  such  a purpose  ; 
as  the  mere  sitting  in  the  House  and  attending  to  my  du- 
ties, if  I were  a member,  would  oblige  me  to  make  many 
pecuniary  sacrifices,  consequent  upon  the  very  nature  of 
my  pursuits. 

The  course  you  suggest  did  occur  to  me  when  I received 
your  first  letter,  and  I have  very  little  doubt  indeed  that 
the  Government  would  support  me — perhaps  to  the  whole 
extent.  But  I cannot  satisfy  myself  that  to  enter  Parlia- 
ment under  such  circumstances  would  enable  me  to  pur- 
sue that  honourable  independence  without  which  I could 
neither  preserve  my  own  respect  nor  that  of  my  constitu- 
ents. I confess  therefore  (it  may  be  from  not  having  con- 
sidered the  points  sufficiently,  or  in  the  right  light)  that 
I cannot  bring  myself  to  propound  the  subject  to  any 
member  of  the  administration  whom  I know.  I am  truly 
obliged  to  you,  nevertheless,  and  am, 

Dear  Sir, 

Faithfully  yours. 

[ To  Mr.  George  CattermoleT)^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Wednesday  Evening,  July  2%th,  1841. 
My  dear  George, 

Can  you  do  for  me  by  Saturday  evening — I know  the 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


53 


time  is  short,  but  I think  the  subject  will  suit  you,  and  I 
am  greatly  pressed — a party  of  rioters  (with  Hugh  and 
Simon  Tappertit  conspicuous  among  them)  in  old  John 
Willet’s  bar,  turning  the  liquor  taps  to  their  own  advan- 
tage, smashing  bottles,  cutting  down  the  grove  of  lemons, 
sitting  astride  on  casks,  drinking  out  of  the  best  punch- 
bowls, eating  the  great  cheese,  smoking  sacred  pipes,  etc. 
etc.  ; John  Willet,  fallen  backward  in  his  chair,  regarding 
them  with  a stupid  horror,  and  quite  alone  among  them, 
with  none  of  The  Maypole  customers  at  his  back. 

It  s in  your  way,  and  you’ll  do  it  a hundred  times  better 
than  I can  suggest  it  to  you,  I know. 

Faithfully  always. 

[7h  Mr,  George  Cattermole^ 

Broadstairs,  Eriday,  August  1841. 

My  dear  George, 

Here  is  a subject  for  the  next  number  ; the  next  to  that 
I hope  to  send  you  the  MS.  of  very  early  in  the  week,  as 
the  best  opportunities  of  illustration  are  all  coming  off 
how,  and  we  are  in  the  thick  of  the  story. 

The  rioters  went,  sir,  from  John  Willet’s  bar  (where  you 
saw  them  to  such  good  purpose)  straight  to  The  Warren, 
which  house  they  plundered,  sacked,  burned,  pulled  down 
as  much  of  as  they  could,  and  greatly  damaged  and  de- 
stroyed. They  are  supposed  to  have  left  it  about  half  an 
hour.  It  is  night,  and  the  ruins  are  here  and  there  flaming 
and  smoking.  I want — if  you  understand — to  show  one 
of  the  turrets  laid  open — the  turret  where  the  alarm-bell  is, 
mentioned  in  No.  i ; and  among  the  ruins  (at  some  height 


54 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


if  possible)  Mr.  Haredale  just  clutching  our  friend,  the 
mysterious  file,  who  is  passing  over  them  like  a spirit ; 
Solomon  Daisy,  if  you  can  introduce  him,  looking  on  from^ 
the  ground  below.  ' 

Please  to  observe  that  the  M.  F.  wears  a large  cloak 
and  a slouched  hat.  This  is  important,  because  Browne 
will  have  him  in  the  same  number,  and  he  has  not  changed 
his  dress  meanwhile.  Mr.  Haredale  is  supposed  to  h|4ve 
come  down  here  on  horseback,  pell-mell  ; to  be  exciteii  to 
the  last  degree.  I think  it  will  make  a queer,  picturesque 
thing  in  your  hands.  I have  told  Chapman  and  Hali  that 
you  may  like  to  have  a block  of  a peculiar  shape  for  it. 
One  of  them  will  be  with  you  almost  as  soon  as  yhu  re- 
ceive this. 

We  are  very  anxious  to  know  that  our  cousin  is  out  of 
her  trouble,  and  you  are  free  from  your  anxiety.  Mind 
you  write  when  it  comes  off.  And  when  she  is  quite  com- 
fortable come  down  here  for  a day  or  two,  like  a bachelor, 
as  you  will  be.  It  will  do  you  a world  of  good.  Think 
of  that.  Always,  dear  Cattermole, 

Heartily  yours. 

P.S. — When  you  have  done  the  subject,  I wdsh  you’d 
write  me  one  line  and  tell  me  how,  that  I may  be  sure  we 
agree.  Loves  from  Kate. 

{.To  Mr.  George  Cattermole^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Thursday,  August  i2,th. 
My  dear  Cattermole, 

Will  you  turn  your  attention  to  a frontispiece  for  our 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS.  $5 

first  volume,  to  come  upon  the  left-hand  side  of  the  book 
as  you  open  it,  and  to  face  a plain  printed  title  ? My 
xiea  is,  some  scene  from  the  Curiosity  Shop,”  in  a pretty 
torder,  or  scroll-work,  or  architectural  device  ; it  matters 
not  what,  so  that  it  be  pretty.  The  scene  even  might  be 
a -anciful  thing,  partaking  of  the  character  of  the  story, 
bu  not  reproducing  any  particular  passage  in  it,  if  you 
th(j;ight  that  better  for  the  effect. 

I ask  you  to  think  of  this,  because,  although  the  volume 
is  net  published  until  the  end  of  September,  there  is  no 
time  to  lose.  We  wish  to  have  it  engraved  with  great 
care,  ind  worked  very  skilfully  ; and  this  cannot  be  done 
unless  we  get  it  on  the  stocks  soon. 

Thy  will  give  you  every  opportunity  of  correction, 
alteraion,  revision,  and  all  other  ations  and  isions  con- 
nectec  with  the  fine  arts.  Always  believe  me. 

Faithfully  yours. 

\To  Mr.  George  Cattermole^ 

Broadstairs,  August  1841. 

My  de\r  George, 

Whe  Hugh  and  a small  body  of  the  rioters  cut  off  from 
The  Wirren  beckoned  to  their  pals,  they  forced  into  a 
very  remarkable  postchaise  Dolly  Varden  and  Emma 
Haredae,  and  bore  them  away  with  all  possible  rapidity  ; 
one  of  heir  company  driving,  and  the  rest  running  beside 
the  chase,  climbing  up  behind,  sitting  on  the  top,  lighting 
the  wa^  with  their  torches,  etc.  etc.  If  you  can  express 
the  woien  inside  without  showing  them — as  by  a flutter- 
ing  vai,  a delicate  arm,  or  so  forth  appearing  at  the  half- 


56 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


closed  window — so  much  the  better.  Mr.  Tappertit  stands 
on  the  steps,  which  are  partly  down,  and  hanging  on  to/ 
the  window  with  one  hand  and  extending  the  other  witl 
great  majesty,  addresses  a few  words  of  encouragemeii 
to  the  driver  and  attendants.  Hugh  sits  upon  the  bar  ^ 
front  ; the  driver  sitting  postilion-wise,  and  turns  rom/d 
to  look  through  the  window  behind  him  at  the  dojes 
within.  The  gentlemen  behind  are  also  anxious  to  each 
a glimpse  of  the  ladies.  One  of  those  who  are  runnir^  at 
the  side  may  be  gently  rebuked  for  his  curiosity  bV  the 
cudgel  of  Hugh.  So  they  cut  away,  sir,  as  fast  as  they 
can. 

Always  faithfijly. 

P.S. — John  Willet’s  bar  is  noble.  i 

We  take  it  for  granted  that  cousin  and  baby  are  hearty. 
Our  loves  to  them. 

f 

I 

[T^Jfr.  TV.  C.  Macready.]  ^1 

Broadstairs,  Tuesday y August  24th 

4 

My  dear  Macready, 

I must  thank  you,  most  heartily  and  cordially,  f( 
kind  note  relative  to  poor  Overs.  I can't  tell  y 
glad  I am  to  know  that  he  thoroughly  deserves  sue 
ness. 

What  a good  fellow  Elliotson  is.  He  kept  hir 
room  a whole  hour,  and  has  gone  into  his  case 
were  Prince  Albert ; laying  down  all  manner  of  e 
projects  and  determining  to  leave  his  friend  Wood 
when  he  himself  goes  away,  on  purpose  to  attend 


* your 
u how 
kind- 

in  his 
3 if  he 
oorate 
i town 
him. 


/ 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


57 


Then  he  writes  me  four  sides  of  paper  about  the  man,  and 
says  he  can’t  go  back  to  his  old  work,  for  that  requires 
muscular  exertion  (and  muscular  exertion  he  mustn’t 
make),  what  are  we  to  do  with  him  ? He  says  : Here’s 

five  pounds  for  the  present.” 

I declare  before  God  that  I could  almost  bear  the 
Jones’s  for  five  years  out  of  the  pleasure  I feel  in  knowing 
such  things,  and  when  I think  that  every  dirty  speck  upon 
the  fair  face  of  the  Almighty’s  creation,  who  writes  in  a 
filthy,  beastly  newspaper  ; every  rotten-hearted  pander 
who  has  been  beaten,  kicked,  and  rolled  in  the  kennel,  yet 
struts  it  in  the  editorial  ‘‘We,”  once  a week  ; every  vaga- 
bond that  an  honest  man’s  gorge  must  rise  at ; every  live 
emetic  in  that  noxious  drug-shop  the  press,  can  have  his 
fling  at  such  men  and  call  them  knaves  and  fools  and 
thieves,  I grow  so  vicious  that,  with  bearing  hard  upon  my 
pen,  I break  the  nib  down,  and,  with  keeping  my  teeth  set, 
make  my  jaws  ache. 

I have  put  myself  out  of  sorts  for  the  day,  and  shall  go 
and  walk,  unless  the  direction  of  this  sets  me  up  again.  On 
second  thoughts  I think  it  will. 

Always,  my  dear  Macready, 

Your  faithful  Friend. 

[ To  Mr.  George  Cattermole?^ 

Broadstairs,  Sunday y September  1841. 
My  dear  George, 

Here  is  a business  letter,  written  in  a scramble  just  before 
post  time,  whereby  I dispose  of  loves  to  cousin  in  a line. 

Firstly.  Will  you  design,  upon  a block  of  wood,  Lord 

3* 


58 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS, 


George  Gordon,  alone  and  very  solitary,  in  his  prison  in 
the  Tower  ? The  chamber  as  ancient  as  you  please,  and 
after  your  own  fancy  ; the  time,  evening ; the  season, 
summer. 

Secondly.  Will  you  ditto  upon  a ditto,  a sword  duel  be- 
tween Mr.  Haredale  and  Mr.  Chester,  in  a grove  of  trees  ? 
No  one  close  by.  Mr.  Haredale  has  just  pierced  his  ad- 
versary, who  has  fallen,  dying,  on  the  grass.  He  (that  is, 
Chester)  tries  to  staunch  the  wound  in  his  breast  with  his 
handkerchief  ; has  his  snuffbox  on  the  earth  beside  him, 
and  looks  at  Mr.  Haredale  (who  stands  with  his  sword  in 
his  hand,  looking  down  on  him)  with  most  supercilious 
hatred,  but  polite  to  the  last.  Mr.  Haredale  is  more  sorry 
than  triumphant. 

Thirdly.  Will  you  conceive  and  execute,  after  your  own 
fashion,  a frontispiece  for  Barnaby  ” ? 

Fourthly.  Will  you  also  devise  a subject  representing 
“ Master  Humphrey’s  Clock”  as  stopped  ; his  chair  by  the 
fireside,  empty  ; his  crutch  against  the  wall ; his  slippers 
on  the  cold  hearth  ; his  hat  upon  the  chair-back  ; the 
MSS.  of  Barnaby  ” and  The  Curiosity  Shop  ” heaped 
upon  the  table  ; and  the  flowers  you  introduced  in  the  first 
subject  of  all  withered  and  dead  ? Master  Humphrey  be- 
ing supposed  to  be  no  more. 

I have  a fifthly,  sixthly,  seventhly,  and  eighthly  ; for  I 
sorely  want  you,  as  I approach  the  close  of  the  tale,  but 
I won’t  frighten  you,  so  we’ll  take  breath. 

Always,  my  dear  Cattermole, 

Heartily  yours. 


LETTERS  OF  CFl ARLES  DICILENS, 


59 


P.S. — I have  been  waiting  until  I got  to  subjects  of  this 
nature,  thinking  you  would  like  them  best. 

iTo  Mr.  George  Gather  mole.] 

Broadstairs,  Septe7?iber  2ist^  1841. 

My  dear  George, 

Will  you,  before  you  go  on  with  the  other  subjects  I 
gave  you,  do  one  of  Hugh,  bareheaded,  bound,  tied  on  a 
horse,  and  escorted  by  horse-soldiers  to  jail  ? If  you  can 
add  an  indication  of  Old  Fleet  Market,  and  bodies  of 
foot  soldiers  firing  at  people  who  have  taken  refuge  on 
the  tops  of  stalls,  bulk-heads,  etc.,  it  will  be  all  the  better. 

Faithfully  yours  always. 

\To  Miss  Mary  Talfourd^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  December  1841. 
My  dear  Mary, 

I should  be  delighted  to  come  and  dine  with  you  on 
your  birthday,  and  to  be  as  merry  as  I wish  you  to  be 
always  ; but  as  I am  going,  within  a very  few  days  after- 
wards, a very  long  distance  from  home,  and  shall  not  see 
any  of  my  children  for  six  long  months,  I have  made  up 
my  mind  to  pass  all  that  week  at  home  for  their  sakes  ; 
just  as  you  would  like  your  papa  and  mamma  to  spend  all 
the  time  they  possibly  could  spare  with  you  if  they  were 
about  to  make  a dreary  voyage  to  America  ; which  is  what 
I am  going  to  do  myself. 

But  although  I cannot  come  to  see  you  on  that  day, 


6o 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


you  may  be  sure  I shall  not  forget  that  it  is  your  birthday, 
and  that  I shall  drink  your  health  and  many  happy  re- 
turns, in  a glass  of  wine,  filled  as  full  as  it  will  hold.  And 
I shall  dine  at  half-past  five  myself,  so  that  we  may  both 
be  drinking  our  wine  at  the  same  time  ; and  I shall  tell  my 
Mary  (for  I have  got  a daughter  of  that  name  but  she  is  a 
very  small  one  as  yet)  to  drink  your  health  too ; and  we 
shall  try  and  make  believe  that  you  are  here,  or  that  we 
are  in  Russell  Square,  which  is  the  best  thing  we  can  do, 
I think,  under  the  circumstances. 

You  are  growing  up  so  fast  that  by  the  time  I come 
home  again  I expect  you  will  be  almost  a woman  ; and  in 
a very  few  years  we  shall  be  saying  to  each  other  : “ Don't 
you  remember  what  the  birthdays  used  to  be  in  Russell 
Square  ? " and  “ How  strange  it  seems  ! " and  How 
quickly  time  passes  ! " and  all  that  sort  of  thing  you  know. 
But  I shall  always  be  very  glad  to  be  asked  on  your  birth- 
day, and  to  come  if  you  will  let  me,  and  to  send  my  love 
to  you,  and  to  wish  that  you  may  live  to  be  very  old  and 
very  happy,  which  I do  now  with  all  my  heart. 

Believe  me  always, 

’ My  dear  Mary, 

Yours  affectionately. 


iTo  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready.] 


Devonshire  Terrace,  Tuesdayy  Dec.  28///,  1841. 
My  dear  Macready, 

This  note  is  about  the  saloon.  I make  it  as  brief  as 


LETTERS  OF  CL/ARLES  DICKENS. 


6l 


possible.  Read  it  when  you  have  time.  As  we  were  the 
first  experimentalists  last  night  you  will  be  glad  to  know 
what  it  wants. 

First,  the  refreshments  are  preposterously  dear.  A glass 
of  wine  is  a shilling,  and  it  ought  to  be  sixpence. 

Secondly,  they  were  served  out  by  the  wrong  sort  of 
people — two  most  uncomfortable  drabs  of  women,  and  a 
dirty  man  with  his  hat  on. 

Thirdly,  there  ought  to  be  a box-keeper  to  ring  a bell 
or  give  some  other  notice  of  the  commencement  of  the 
overture  to  the  after-piece.  The  promenaders  were  in  a 
perpetual  fret  and  worry  to  get  back  again. 

And  fourthly,  and  most  important  of  all — if  the  plan  is 
ever  to  succeed — you  must  have  some  notice  up  to  the  ef- 
fect that  as  it  is  now  a place  of  resort  for  ladies,  gentlemen 
are  requested  not  to  lounge  there  in  their  hats  and  great- 
coats. No  ladies  will  go  there,  though  the  conveniences 
should  be  ten  thousand  times  greater,  while  the  sort  of 
swells  who  have  been  used  to  kick  their  heels  there  do  so 
in  the  old  sort  of  way.  I saw  this  expressed  last  night 
more  strongly  than  I can  tell  you. 

Hearty  congratulations  on  the  brilliant  triumph.  I have 
always  expected  one,  as  you  know,  but  nobody  could  have 
imagined  the  reality.  Always,  my  dear  Macready, 

Affectionately  yours. 


62 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


1842. 

NARRATIVE. 

In  January  of  this  year  Charles  Dickens  went,  with  his 
wife,  to  America,  the  house  in  Devonshire  Terrace  being 
let  for  the  term  of  their  absence  (six  months),  and  the  four 
children  left  in  a furnished  house  in  Osnaburgh  Street, 
Regent’s  Park,  under  the  care  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Macready. 
They  returned  from  America  in  July,  and  in  August  went 
to  Broadstairs  for  the  autumn  months  as  usual,  and  in 
October  Charles  Dickens  made  an  expedition  to  Cornwall, 
with  Mr.  Forster,  Mr.  Maclise,  and  Mr.  Stanfield  for  his 
companions. 

During  his  stay  at  Broadstairs  he  was  engaged  in  writing 
his  American  Notes,”  which  book  was  published  in  Oc- 
tober. At  the  end  of  the  year  he  had  written  the  first 
number  of  “Martin  Chuzzlewit,”  which  appeared  in  Janu- 
ary,  1843. 

An  extract  from  a letter,  addressed  to  Messrs.  Chapman 
and  Hall  before  his  departure  for  America,  is  given  as  a 
testimony  of  the  estimation  in  which  Charles  Dickens  held 
the  firm  with  whom  he  was  connected  for  so  many  years. 

His  letters  to  Mr.  H.  P.  Smith,  for  many  years  actuary 
of  the  Eagle  Insurance  Office,  are  a combination  of  busi- 
ness and  friendship.  Mr.  Smith  gives  us,  as  an  explana- 
tion of  a note  to  him,  dated  14th  July,  that  he  alluded  to 
the  stamp  of  the  office  upon  the  cheque,  which  was,  as  he 
described  it,  “ almost  a work  of  art  ” — a truculent-looking 
eagle  seated  on  a rock  and  scattering  rays  over  the  whole 
sheet. 

Of  letters  written  by  Charles  Dickens  in  America  we 
have  been  able  to  obtain  very  few.  One,  to  Dr.  F.  H. 
Deane,  Cincinnati,  complying  with  his  request  to  write 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCLCENS. 


63 


him  an  epitaph  for  the  tombstone  of  his  little  child,  has 
been  kindly  copied  for  us  from  an  album,  by  Mrs.  Fields, 
of  Boston.  Therefore,  it  is  not  directly  received,  but  as 
we  have  no  doubt  of  its  authenticity,  we  give  it  here  ; and 
there  is  one  to  Mr.  Halleck,  the  American  poet. 

At  the  close  of  the  voyage  to  America  (a  very  bad  and 
dangerous  one),  a meeting  of  the  passengers,  with  Lord 
Mulgrave  in  the  chair,  took  place,  and  a piece  of  plate  and 
thanks  were  voted  to  the  captain  of  the  Britannia^  Captain 
Hewett.  The  vote  of  thanks,  being  drawn  up  by  Charles 
Dickens,  is  given  here.  We  have  letters  in  this  year  to 
Mr.  Thomas  Hood,  Miss  Pardoe,  Mrs.  Trollope,  and  Mr. 
W.  P.  Frith.  The  last-named  artist — then  a very  young 
man — had  made  great  success  with  several  charming  pic- 
tures of  Dolly  Varden.  One  of  these  was  bought  by 
Charles  Dickens,  who  ordered  a companion  picture  of 
Kate  Nickleby,  from  the  young  painter,  whose  acquain- 
tance he  made  at  the  same  time  ; and  the  two  letters  to 
Mr.  Frith  have  reference  to  the  purchase  of  the  one  pic- 
ture and  the  commission  for  the  other. 

The  letter  to  Mr.  Cattermole  is  an  acknowledgment  also 
of  a completed  commission  of  two  water-colour  drawings, 
from  the  subjects  of  two  of  Mr.  Cattermole’s  illustrations 
to  The  Old  Curiosity  Shop.” 

A note  to  Mr.  Macready,  at  the  close  of  this  year,  refers 
to  the  first  representation  of  Mr.  Westland  Marston’s  play. 

The  Patrician's  Daughter.”  Charles  Dickens  took  great 
interest  in  the  production  of  this  work  at  Drury  Lane.  It 
was,  to  a certain  extent,  an  experiment  of  the  effect  of  a 
tragedy  of  modern  times  and  in  modern  dress  ; and  the 
prologue,  which  Charles  Dickens  wrote  and  which  we  give, 
was  intended  to  show  that  there  need  be  no  incongruity 
between  plain  clothes  of  this  century  and  high  tragedy. 
The  play  was  quite  successful. 


64  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

\^To  Messrs.  Chapman  and  Hall.^ 

Hi  ^ Hi  Hi 

Having  disposed  of  the  business  part  of  this  letter,  I 
should  not  feel  at  ease  on  leaving  England  if  I did  not  tell 
you  once  more  with  my  whole  heart  that  your  conduct  to 
me  on  this  and  all  other  occasions  has  been  honourable, 
manly,  and  generous,  and  that  I have  felt  it  a solemn  duty, 
in  the  event  of  any  accident  happening  to  me  while  I am 
away,  to  place  this  testimony  on  record.  It  forms  part  of 
a will  I have  made  for  the  security  of  my  children  ; for  I 
wish  them  to  know  it  when  they  are  capable  of  under- 
standing your  worth  and  my  appreciation  of  it. 

Always  believe  me. 

Faithfully  and  truly  yours. 

[7h  Mr,  Thomas  Mitton^ 

Adelphi  Hotel,  Liverpool,  Monday,  Jan,  2>rd,  1842. 
My  dear  Mitton, 

This  is  a short  note,  but  I will  fulfil  the  adage  and  make 
it  a merry  one. 

We  came  down  in  great  comfort.  Our  luggage  is  now 
aboard.  Anything  so  utterly  and  monstrously  absurd  as 
the  size  of  our  cabin,  no  gentleman  of  England  who  lives 
at  home  at  ease  can  for  a moment  imagine.  Neither  of 
the  portmanteaus  would  go  into  it.  There  ! 

These  Cunard  packets  are  not  very  big  you  know 
actually,  but  the  quantity  of  sleeping-berths  makes  them 
much  smaller,  so  that  the  saloon  is  not  nearly  as  large  as 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


65 


in  one  of  the  Ramsgate  boats.  The  ladies’  cabin  is  so 
close  to  ours  that  I could  knock  the  door  without  getting 
off  something  they  call  my  bed,  but  which  I believe  to  be 
a muffin  beaten  flat.  This  is  a great  comfort,  for  it  is  an 
excellent  room  (the  only  good  one  in  the  ship)  ; and  if 
there  be  only  one  other  lady  besides  Kate,  as  the  stew- 
ardess thinks,  I hope  I shall  be  able  to  sit  there  very 
often. 

.They  talk  of  seventy  passengers,  but  I can’t  think  there 
will  be  so  many  ; they  talk  besides  (which  is  even  more  to 
the  purpose)  of  a very  fine  passage,  having  had  a noble 
one  this  time  last  year.  God  send  it  so  ! We  are  in  the 
best  spirits,  and  full  of  hope.  I was  dashed  for  a moment 
when  I saw  our  cabin,”  but  I got  over  that  directly,  and 
laughed  so  much  at  its  ludicrous  proportions,  that  you 
might  have  heard  me  all  over  the  ship. 

God  bless  you  ! Write  to  me  by  the  first  opportunity.  I 
will  do  the  like  to  you.  And  always  believe  me. 

Your  old  and  faithful  Friend. 

NARRATIVE. 

At  a meeting  of  the  passengers  on  board  the  Britannia 
steam-ship,  travelling  from  Liverpool  to  Boston,  held  in 
the  saloon  of  that  vessel,  on  Friday,  the  21st  January, 
1842,  it  was  moved  and  seconded  : 

“That  the  Earl  of  Mulgrave  do  take  the  chair.” 

The  motion  having  been  carried  unanimously,  the  Earl 
of  Mulgrave  took  the  chair  accordingly. 


66 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


It  was  also  moved  and  seconded,  and  carried  unani- 
mously : 

^^That  Charles  Dickens,  Esq.,  be  appointed  secretary 
and  treasurer  to  the  meeting.” 

The  thiree  following  resolutions  were  then  proposed  and 
carried  nem.  con. : 

First.  That,  gratefully  recognising  the  blessing  of  Di- 
vine Providence  by  which  we  are  brought  nearly  to  the 
termination  of  our  voyage,  we  have  great  pleasure  in  ex- 
pressing our  high  appreciation  of  Captain  Hewett’s  nauti- 
cal skill  and  of  his  indefatigable  attention  to  the  manage- 
ment and  safe  conduct  of  the  ship,  during  a more  than 
ordinarily  tempestuous  passage. 

Secondly.  That  a subscription  be  opened  for  the  pur- 
chase of  a piece  of  silver  plate,  and  that  Captain  Hewett 
be  respectfully  requested  to  accept  it,  as  a sincere  expres- 
sion of  the  sentiments  embodied  in  the  foregoing  resolu- 
tion. 

^‘Thirdly.  That  a committee  be  appointed  to  carry 
these  resolutions  into  effect ; and  that  the  committee  be 
composed  of  the  following  gentlemen  : Charles  Dickens, 
Esq.,  E.  Dunbar,  Esq.,  and  Solomon  Hopkins,  Esq.” 

The  committee  having  withdrawn  and  conferred  with 
Captain  Hewett,  returned,  and  informed  the  meeting  that 
Captain  Hewett  desired  to  attend  and  express  his  thanks, 
which  he  did. 

The  amount  of  the  subscription  was  reported  at  fifty 
pounds,  and  the  list  was  closed.  It  was  then  agreed  that 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  6/ 

the  following  inscription  should  be  placed  upon  the  testi- 
monial to  Captain  Hewett : 

This  Piece  of  Plate 
was  presented  to 

CAPTAIN  JOHN  HEWETT, 
of  the  Britannia  Steam-ship, 

By  the  Passengers  on  board  that  vessel  in  a voyage  from  Liverpool 
to  Boston,  in  the  month  of  January,  1842, 

As  a slight  acknowledgment  of  his  great  ability  and  skill 
under  circumstances  of  much  difficulty  and  danger. 

And  as  a feeble  token  of  their  lasting  gratitude. 


Thanks  were  then  voted  to  the  chairman  and  to  the 
secretary,  and  the  meeting  separated. 


[To  Mr.  Thomas  Mitton^ 

Tremont  House,  Boston,  January  31st,  1842. 
My  dear  Mitton, 

I am  so  exhausted  with  the  life  I am  obliged  to  lead 
here,  that  I have  had  time  to  write  but  one  letter  which  is 
at  all  deserving  of  the  name^  as  giving  any  account  of  our 
movements.  Forster  has  it,  in  trust,  to  tell  you  all  its 
news ; and  he  has  also  some  newspapers  which  I had  an 
opportunity  of  sending  him,  in  which  you  will  find  further 
particulars  of  our  progress. 

We  had  a dreadful  passage,  the  worst,  the  officers  all 
concur  in  saying,  that  they  have  ever  known.  We  were 
eighteen  days  coming  ; experienced  a dreadful  storm  which 
swept  away  our  paddle-boxes  and  stove  our  lifeboats  ; and 


68 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCICENS. 


ran  aground  besides,  near  Halifax,  among  rocks  and 
breakers,  where  we  lay  at  anchor  all  night.  After  we  left 
the  English  Channel  we  had  only  one  fine  day.  And  we 
had  the  additional  discomfort  of  being  eighty-six  passen- 
gers. I was  ill  five  days,  Kate  six  ; though,  indeed,  she 
had  a swelled  face  and  suffered  the  utmost  terror  all  the 
way. 

I can  give  you  no  conception  of  my  welcome  here. 
There  never  was  a king  or  emperor  upon  the  earth  so 
cheered  and  followed  by  crowds,  and  entertained  in  pub- 
lic at  splendid  balls  and  dinners,  and  waited  on  by  public 
bodies  and  deputations  of  all  kinds.  I have  had  one  from 
the  Far  West — a journey  of  two  thousand  miles  ! If  I go 
out  in  a carriage,  the  crowd  surround  it  and  escort  me 
home  ; if  I go  to  the  theatre,  the  whole  house  (crowded  to 
the  door)  rises  as  one  man,  and  the  timbers  ring  again.  You 
cannot  imagine  what  it  is.  I have  five  great  public  din- 
ners on  hand  at  this  moment,  and  invitations  from  every 
town  and  village  and  city  in  the  States. 

There  is  a great  deal  afloat  here  in  the  way  of  subjects 
for  description.  I keep  my  eyes  open  pretty  wide,  and 
hope  to  have  done  so  to  some  purpose  by  the  time  I come 
home. 

When  you  write  to  me  again — I say  again,  hoping  that 
your  first  letter  will  be  soon  upon  its  way  here — direct  to 
me  to  the  care  of  David  Golden,  Esq.,  New  York.  He  will 
forward  all  communications  by  the  quickest  conveyance 
and  will  be  perfectly  acquainted  with  all  my  movements. 

Always  your  faithful  Friend. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  69 

\^To  Mr.  Fitz-Greene  Halleck.^ 

Carlton  House,  February,  14M,  1842. 

My  dear  Sir, 

Will  you  come  and  breakfast  with  me  on  Tuesday,  the 
22nd,  at  half’past  ten  ? Say  yes.  I should  have  been 
truly  delighted  to  have  talked  with  you  to-night  (being 
quite  alone),  but  the  doctor  says  that  if  I talk  to  man, 
woman,  or  child  this  evening  I shall  be  dumb  to-morrow. 

Believe  me  with  true  regard. 

Faithfully  your  Friend. 

[To  Mr,  W.  C,  Macready^ 

Baltimore,  March  22nd,  1842. 

My  dear  Friend, 

I beg  your  pardon,  but  you  were  speaking  of  rash  leaps 
at  hasty  conclusions.  Are  you  quite  sure  you  designed  that 
remark  for  me  ? Have  you  not,  in  the  hurry  of  correspon- 
dence, slipped  a paragraph  into  my  letter  which  belongs  of 
right  to  somebody  else  ? When  did  you  ever  find  me  leap 
at  wrong  conclusions  ? I pause  for  a reply. 

Pray,  sir,  did  you  ever  find  me  admiring  Mr. ? On 

the  contrary,  did  you  never  hear  of  my  protesting  through 
good,  better,  and  best  report  that  he  was  not  an  open  or  a 
candid  man,  and  would  one  day,  beyond  all  doubt,  dis- 
please you  by  not  being  so  ? I pause  again  for  a reply. 

Are  you  quite  sure,  Mr.  Macready — and  I address  my- 
self to  you  with  the  sternness  of  a man  in  the  pit — are  you 
quite  sure,  sir,  that  you  do  not  view  America  through  the 


70 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


/ 


pleasant  mirage  which  often  surrounds  a thing  that  has 
been,  but  not  a thing  that  is  ? Are  you  quite  sure  that 
when  you  were  here  you  relished  it  as  well  as  you  do  now 
when  you  look  back  upon  it  ? The  early  spring  birds,  Mr. 
Macready,  do  sing  in  the  groves  that  you  were,  very  often, 
not  over  well  pleased  with  many  of  the  new  country's 
social  aspects.  Are  the  birds  to  be  trusted  ? Again  I 
pause  for  a reply. 

My  dear  Macready,  I desire  to  be  so  honest  and  just  to 
those  who  have  so  enthusiastically  and  earnestly  welcomed 
me,  that  I burned  the  last  letter  I wrote  to  you — even  to 
you  to  whom  I would  speak  as  to  myself — rather  than  let 
it  come  with  anything  that  might  seem  like  an  ill-consid- 
ered word  of  disappointment.  I preferred  that  you  should 
think  me  neglectful  (if  you  could  imagine  anything  so 
wild)  rather  than  I should  do  wrong  in  this  respect.  Still 
it  is  of  no  use.  I am  disappointed.  This  is  not  the  re- 
public I came  to  see  ; this  is  not  the  republic  of  my  im- 
agination. I infinitely  prefer  a liberal  monarchy — even 
with  its  sickening  accompaniments  of  court  circles — to 
such  a government  as  this.  The  more  I think  of  its  youth 
and  strength,  the  poorer  and  more  trifling  in  a thousand 
aspects  it  appears  in  my  eyes.  In  everything  of  which  it 
has  made  a boast — excepting  its  education  of  the  people 
and  its  care  for  poor  children — it  sinks  immeasurably  be- 
low the  level  I had  placed  it  upon  ; and  England,  even 
England,  bad  and  faulty  as  the  old  land  is,  and  miserable 
as  millions  of  her  people  are,  rises  in  the  comparison. 

Yoic  live  here,  Macready,  as  I have  sometimes  heard  you 


^ LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS,  /I 

imagining  ! You  I Loving  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul, 
and  knowing  what  your  disposition  really  is,  I would  not 
condemn  you  to  a year’s  residence  on  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic  for  any  money.  Freedom  of  opinion  ! Where  is 
it  ? I see  a press  more  mean,  and  paltry,  and  silly,  and 
disgraceful  than  any  country  I ever  knew.  If  that  is  its 
standard,  here  it  is.  But  I speak  of  Bancroft,  and  am 
advised  to  be  silent  on  that  subject,  for  he  is  ‘‘  a black 
sheep — a Democrat.”  I speak  of  Bryant,  and  am  entreated 
to  be  more  careful,  for  the  same  reason.  I speak  of  inter- 
national copyright,  and  am  implored  not  to  ruin  myself 
outright.  I speak  of  Miss  Martineau,  and  all  parties — 
Slave  Upholders  and  Abolitionists,  Whigs,  Tyler  Whigs, 
and  Democrats,  shower  down  upon  me  a perfect  cataract 
of  abuse.  But  what  has  she  done  ? Surely  she  praised 
America  enough  ! ” Yes,  but  she  told  us  of  sonie  of  our 
faults,  and  Americans  can’t  bear  to  be  told  of  their  faults. 
Don’t  split  on  that  rock,  Mr.  Dickens,  don’t  write  about 
America  ; we  are  so  very  suspicious.” 

Freedom  of  opinion  ! Macready,  if  I had  been  born 
here  and  had  written  my  books  in  this  country,  producing 
them  with  no  stamp  of  approval  from  any  other  land,  it  is 
my  solemn  belief  that  I should  have  lived  and  died  poor, 
unnoticed,  and  a black  sheep  ” to  boot.  I never  was 
more  convinced  of  anything  than  I am  of  that. 

The  people  are  affectionate,  generous,  open-hearted, 
hospitable,  enthusiastic,  good-humoured,  polite  to  women, 
frank  and  candid  to  all  strangers,  anxious  to  oblige,  far 
less  prejudiced  than  they  have  been  described  to  be,  fre- 


72 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


quently  polished  and  refined,  very  seldom  rude  or  dis- 
agreeable. I have  made  a great  many  friends  here,  even 
in  public  conveyances,  whom  I have  been  truly  sorry  to 
part  from.  In  the  towns  I have  formed  perfect  attach- 
ments. I have  seen  none  of  that  greediness  and  indecor- 
ousness on  which  travellers  have  laid  so  much  emphasis. 
I have  returned  frankness  with  frankness  ; met  questions 
not  intended  to  be  rude,  with  answers  meant  to  be  satis- 
factory : and  have  not  spoken  to  one  man,  woman,  or  child 
of  any  degree,  who  has  not  grown  positively  affectionate 
before  we  parted.  In  the  respects  of  not  being  left  alone, 
and  of  being  horribly  disgusted  by  tobacco  chewing  and 
tobacco  spittle,  I have  suffered  considerably.  The  sight 
of  slavery  in  Virginia,  the  hatred  of  British  feeling  upon 
the  subject,  and  the  miserable  hints  of  the  impotent  indig- 
nation of  the  South,  have  pained  me  very  much  ; on  the 
last  head,  of  course,  I have  felt  nothing  but  a mingled  pity 
and  amusement  ; on  the  other,  sheer  distress.  But  how- 
ever much  I like  the  ingredients  of  this  great  dish,  I can- 
not but  come  back  to  the  point  at  which  I started,  and  say 
that  the  dish  itself  goes  against  the  grain  with  me,  and  that 
I don’t  like  it. 

You  know  that  I am  truly  a Liberal.  I believe  I have 
as  little  pride  as  most  men,  and  I am  conscious  of  not  the 
smallest  annoyance  from  being  hail  fellow  well  met  ” 
with  everybody.  I have  not  had  greater  pleasure  in  the 
company  of  any  set  of  men  among  the  thousands  I have 
received  (I  hold  a regular  levee  every  day,  you  know,  which 
is  duly  heralded  and  proclaimed  in  the  newspapers)  than 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


73 


in  that  of  the  carmen  of  Hartford,  who  presented  them- 
selves in  a body  in  their  blue  frocks,  among  a crowd  of 
well-dressed  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  bade  me  welcome 
through  their  spokesman.  They  had  all  read  my  books, 
and  all  perfectly  understood  them.  It  is  not  these  things 
I have  in  my  mind  when  I say  that  the  man  who  comes 
to  this  country  a Radical  and  goes  home  again  with  his 
opinions  unchanged,  must  be  a Radical  on  reason,  sympa- 
thy, and  reflection,  and  one  who  has  so  well  considered 
the  subject  that  he  has  no  chance  of  wavering. 

We  have  been  to  Boston,  Worcester,  Hartford,  New 
Haven,  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  Washington, 
Fredericksburgh,  Richmond,  and  back  to  Washington 
again.  The  premature  heat  of  the  weather  (it  was  eighty 
yesterday  in  the  shade)  and  Clay’s  advice — how  you  would 
like  Clay  ! — have  made  us  determine  not  to  go  to  Charles- 
ton ; but  having  got  to  Richmond,  I think  I should  have 
turned  back  under  any  circumstances.  We  remain  at  Bal- 
timore for  two  days,  of  which  this  is  one  ; then  we  go  to 
Harrisburgh.  Then  by  the  canal  boat  and  the  railroad 
over  the  Alleghany  Mountains  to  Pittsburgh,  then  down 
the  Ohio  to  Cincinnati,  then  to  Louisville,  and  then  to  St. 
Louis.  I have  been  invited  to  a public  entertainment  in 
every  town  I have  entered,  and  have  refused  them  ; but  I 
have  excepted  St.  Louis  as  the  farthest  point  of  my  travels. 
My  friends  there  have  passed  some  resolutions  which 
Forster  has,  and  will  show  you.  From  St.  Louis  we  cross 
to  Chicago,  traversing  immense  prairies.  Thence  by  the 
lakes  and  Detroit  to  Buffalo,  and  so  to  Niagara.  A run 
4 


74 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


into  Canada  follows  of  course,  and  then — let  me  write  the 
blessed  word  in  capitals — we  turn  towards  home. 

Kate  has  written  to  Mrs.  Macready,  and  it  is  useless  for 
me  to  thank  you,  my  dearest  friend,  or  her,  for  your  care 
of  our  dear  children,  which  is  our  constant  theme  of  dis- 
course. Forster  has  gladdened  our  hearts  with  his  account 
of  the  triumph  of  “ Acis  and  Galatea,'’  and  I am  anxiously 
looking  for  news  of  the  tragedy.  Forrest  breakfasted  with 
us  at  Richmond  last  Saturday — he  was  acting  there,  and 
I invited  him — and  he  spoke  very  gratefully,  and  very  like 
a man,  of  your  kindness  to  him  when  he  was  in  London. 

David  Golden  is  as  good  a fellow  as  ever  lived  ; and  I 
am  deeply  in  love  with  his  wife.  Indeed  we  have  received 
the  greatest  and  most  earnest  and  zealous  kindness  from 
the  whole  family,  and  quite  love  them  all.  Do  you  remem- 
ber one  Greenhow,  whom  you  invited  to  pass  some  days 
with  you  at  the  hotel  on  the  Kaatskill  Mountains  ? He  is 
translator  to  the  State  Office  at  Washington,  has  a very 
pretty  wife,  and  a little  girl  of  five  years  old.  We  dined 
with  them,  and  had  a very  pleasant  day.  The  President 
invited  me  to  dinner,  but  I couldn’t  stay  for  it.  I had  a 
private  audience,  however,  and  we  attended  the  public 
drawing-room  besides. 

Now,  don’t  you  rush  at  the  quick  conclusion  that  I have 
rushed  at  a quick  conclusion.  Pray,  be  upon  your  guard. 
If  you  can  by  any  process  estimate  the  extent  of  my  affec- 
tionate regard  for  you,  and  the  rush  I shall  make  when  I 
reach  London  to  take  you  by  your  true  right  hand,  I don’t 
object.  But  let  me  entreat  you  to  be  very  careful  how 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


you  come  down  upon  the  sharpsighted  individual  who 
pens  these  words,  which  you  seem  to  me  to  have  done  in 
what  Willmott  would  call  “ one  of  Mr.  Macready’s  rushes.” 
As  my  pen  is  getting  past  its  work,  I have  taken  a new  one 
to  say  that 

I am  ever,  my  dear  Macready, 

Your  faithful  Friend. 

\^To  Mr,  Thomas  Mitton^ 

Baltimore,  United  States,  March  22nd,  1842. 
My  dear  Friend, 

We  have  been  as  far  south  as  Richmond  in  Virginia 
(where  they  grow  and  manufacture  tobacco,  and  where  the 
labour  is  all  performed  by  slaves),  but  the  season  in  those 
latitudes  is  so  intensely  and  prematurely  hot,  that  it  was 
considered  a matter  of  doubtful  expediency  to  go  on  to 
Charleston.  For  this  unexpected  reason,  and  because  the 
country  between  Richmond  and  Charleston  is  but  a deso- 
late swamp  the  whole  way,  and  because  slavery  is  anything 
but  a cheerful  thing  to  live  amidst,  I have  altered  my  route 
by  the  advice  of  Mr.  Clay  (the  great  political  leader  in 
this  country),  and  have  returned  here  previous  to  diving 
into  the  far  West.  We  start  for  that  part  of  the  country — 
which  includes  mountain  travelling,  and  lake  travelling, 
and  prairie  travelling — the  day  after  to-morrow,  at  eight 
o’clock  in  the  morning  ; and  shall  be  in  the  West,  and 
from  there  going  northward  again,  until  the  30th  of  April 
or  I St  of  May,  when  we  shall  halt  for  a week  at  Niagara, 


;6 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


before  going  further  into  Canada.  We  have  taken  our 
passage  home  (God  bless  the  word)  in  the  George  Wash- 
ington packet-ship  from  New  York.  She  sails  on  the  7th 
of  June. 

I have  departed  from  my  resolution  not  to  accept  any 
more  public  entertainments  ; they  have  been  proposed  in 
every  town  I have  visited — in  favour  of  the  people  of  St. 
Louis,  my  utmost  western  point.  That  town  is  on  the 
borders  of  the  Indian  .territory,  a trifling  distance  from 
this  place — only  two  thousand  miles  ! At  my  second 
halting-place  I shall  be  able  to  write  to  fix  the  day  ; I 
suppose  it  will  be  somewhere  about  the  12th  of  April. 
Think  of  my  going  so  far  towards  the  setting  sun  to  din- 
ner ! 

In  every  town  where  we  stay,  though  it  be  only  for  a 
day,  we  hold  a regular  levee  or  drawing-room,  where  I 
shake  hands  on  an  average  with  five  or  six  hundred  people^ 
who  pass  on  from  me  to  Kate,  and  are  shaken  again  by 
her.  Maclise’s  picture  of  our  darlings  stands  upon  a table 
or  sideboard  the  while  ; and  my  travelling  secretary,  as- 
sisted very  often  by  a committee  belonging  to  the  place, 
presents  the  people  in  due  form.  Think  of  two  hours  of 
this  every  day,  and  the  people  coming  in  by  hundreds,  all 
fresh,  and  piping  hot,  and  full  of  questions,  when  we  are 
literally  exhausted  and  can  hardly  stand.  I really  do  be- 
lieve that  if  I had  not  a lady  with  me,  I should  have  been 
obliged  to  leave  the  country  and  go  back  to  England.  But 
for  her  they  never  would  leave  me  alone  by  day  or  night, 
and  as  it  is,  a slave  comes  to  me  now  and  then  in  the  mid- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


77 


die  of  the  night  with  a letter,  and  waits  at  the  bedroom 
door  for  an  answer. 

It  was  so  hot  at  Richmond  that  we  could  scarcely 
breathe,  and  the  peach  and  other  fruit  trees  were  in  full 
blossom;  it  was  so  cold  at  Washington  next  day  that  we 
were  shivering  ; but  even  in  the  same  town  you  might 
often  wear  nothing  but  a shirt  and  trousers  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  two  greatcoats  at  night,  the  thermometer  very 
frequently  taking  a little  trip  of  thirty  degrees  between 
sunrise  and  sunset. 

They  do  lay  it  on  at  the  hotels  in  such  style  ! They 
charge  by  the  day,  so  that  whether  one  dines  out  or  dines 
at  home  makes  no  manner  of  difference.  T’other  day  I 
wrote  to  order  aur  rooms  at  Philadelphia  to  be  ready  on  a 
certain  day,  and  was  detained  a week  longer  than  I ex- 
pected in  New  York.  The  Philadelphia  landlord  not  only 
charged  me  half  rent  for  the  rooms  during  the  whole  of 
that  time,  but  board  for  myself  and  Kate  and  Anne  dur- 
ing the  whole  time  too,  though  we  were  actually  boarding 
at  the  same  expense  during  the  same  time  in  New  York  ! 
What  do  you  say  to  that  ? If  I remonstrated,  the  whole 
virtue  of  the  newspapers  would  be  aroused  directly. 

We  were  at  the  President’s  drawing-room  while  we  were 
in  Washington.  I had  a private  audience  besides,  and 
was  asked  to  dinner,  but  couldn’t  stay. 

Parties — parties  — parties  — of  course,  every  day  and 
night.  But  it’s  not  all  parties.  I go  into  the  prisons,  the 
police-offices,  the  watch-houses,  the  hospitals,  the  work- 
houses.  I was  out  half  the  night  in  New  York  with  two 


78 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


of  their  most  famous  constables  ; started  at  midnight,  and 
went  into  every  brothel,  thieves’  house,  murdering  hovel, 
sailors’  dancing-place,  and  abode  of  villany,  both  black 
and  white,  in  the  town.  I went  incog,  behind  the  scenes 
to  the  little  theatre  where  Mitchell  is  making  a fortune. 
He  has  been  rearing  a little  dog  for  me,  and  has  called 
him  Boz.”  * I am  going  to  bring  him  home.  In  a word 
I go  everywhere,  and  a hard  life  it  is.  But  I am  careful 
to  drink  hardly  anything,  and  not  to  smoke  at  all.  I have 
recourse  to  my  medicine-chest  whenever  I feel  at  all  bil- 
ious, and  am,  thank  God,  thoroughly  well. 

When  I next  write  you,  I shall  have  begun,  I hope,  to 
turn  my  face  homeward.  I have  a great  store  of  oddity 
and  whimsicality,  and  am  going  now  into,  the  oddest  and 
most  characteristic  part  of  this  most  queer  country. 

Always  direct  to  the  care  of  David  Golden,  Esq.,  28, 
Laight  Street,  Hudson  Square,  New  York.  I received 
your  Caledonia  letter  with  the  greatest  joy. 

Kate  sends  her  best  remembrances. 

And  I am  always. 

P.S. — Richmond  was  my  extreme  southern  point,  and 
I turn  from  the  South  altogether  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
Will  you  let  the  Britannia  f know  of  this  change — if  need- 
ful ? 

* The  little  dog — a white  Havana  spaniel — was  brought  home  and  renamed, 
after  an  incidental  character  in  “Nicholas  Nickleby,’^  “ Mr.  Snittle  Timbery.” 
This  was  shortened  to  “ Timber,”  and  under  that  name  the  little  dog  lived  to  be 
very  old,  and  accompanied  the  family  in  all  its  migrations,  including  the  visits  to 
Italy  and  Switzerland, 
t Life  Insurance  Office. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


79 


[T(?  Dr.  F.  H.  Deane 7\ 

Cincinnati,  Ohio,  April  1842. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I have  not  been  unmindful  of  your  request  for  a mo- 
ment, but  have  not  been  able  to  think  of  it  until  now.  I 
hope  my  good  friends  (for  whose  christian-names  I have 
left  blanks  in  the  epitaph)  may  like  what  I have  written, 
and  that  they  will  take  comfort  and  be  happy  again.  I 
sail  on  the  7th  of  June,  and  purpose  being  at  the  Carlton 
House,  New  York,  about  the  ist.  It  will  make  me  easy 
to  know  that  this  letter  has  reached  you. 

Faithfully  yours. 

is  §xn\it  of  n f itlle 

WHOM  GOD  IN  HIS  GOODNESS  CALLED  TO  A BRIGHT  ETERNITY 
WHEN  HE  WAS  VERY  YOUNG. 

HARD  AS  IT  IS  FOR  HUMAN  AFFECTION  TO  RECONCILE  ITSELF  TO  DEATH  IN  ANY 
SHAPE  (and  most  OF  ALL,  PERHAPS,  AT  FIRST  IN  THIS), 

HIS  PARENTS  CAN  EVEN  NOW  BELIEVE  THAT  IT  WILL  BE  A CONSOLATION 
TO  THEM  THROUGHOUT  THEIR  LIVES, 

AND  WHEN  THEY  SHALL  HAVE  GROWN  OLD  AND  GRAY, 

glIfnHgs  to  ll^ink  d ^im  as  a in  fleafrm. 

And  Jesus  called  a little  child  unto  Him,  and  set  him  in  the  midst  of  themT 

He  WAS  THE  Son  of  Q , and  M THORNTON,  christened 

CHARLES  JERKING. 

HE  WAS  BORN  ON  THE  20TH  DAY  OF  JANUARY,  1841, 

AND  HE  DIED  ON  THE  I2TH  DAY  OF  MARCH,  1842, 

HAVING  LIVED  ONLY  THIRTEEN  MONTHS  AND  TWENTY  DAYS. 


8o 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


\_To  Mr,  Henry  Austin.] 

Niagara  Falls  (English  Side), 

Sunday^  May  1st,  1842. 

My  dear  Henry, 

Although  I date  this  letter  as  above,  it  will  not  be  so  old 
a one  as  at  first  sight  it  would  appear  to  be  when  it  reaches 
you.  I shall  carry  it  on  with  me  to  Montreal,  and  despatch 
it  from  there  by  the  steamer  which  goes  to  Halifax,  to  meet 
the  Cunard  boat  at  that  place,  with  Canadian  letters  and 
passengers.  Before  I finally  close  it,  I will  add  a short 
postscript,  so  that  it  will  contain  the  latest  intelligence. 

We  have  had  a blessed  interval  of  quiet  in  this  beautiful 
place,  of  which,  as  you  may  suppose,  we  stood  greatly  in 
need,  not  only  by  reason  of  our  hard  travelling  for  a long 
time,  but  on  account  of  the  incessant  persecutions  of  the 
people,  by  land  and  water,  on  stage  coach,  railway  car, 
and  steamer,  which  exceeds  anything  you  can  picture  to 
yourself  by  the  utmost  stretch  of  your  imagination.  So 
far  we  have  had  this  hotel  nearly  to  ourselves.  It  is  a 
large  square  house,  standing  on  a bold  height,  with  over- 
hanging eaves  like  a Swiss  cottage,  and  a wide  handsome 
gallery  outside  every  story.  These  colonnades  make  it 
look  so  very  light,  that  it  has  exactly  the  appearance  of  a 
house  built  with  a pack  of  cards ; and  I live  in  bodily 
terror  lest  any  man  should  venture  to  step  out  of  a little 
observatory  on  the  roof,  and  crush  the  whole  structure 
with  one  stamp  of  his  foot. 

Our  sitting-room  (which  is  large  and  low  like  a nursery) 
is  on  the  second  floor,  and  is  so  close  to  the  Falls  that*  the 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


8i 


windows  are  always  wet  and  dim  with  spray.  Two  bed- 
rooms open  out  of  it — one  our  own ; one  Anne’s.  The 
secretary  slumbers  near  at  hand,  but  without  these  sacred 
precincts.  From  the  three  chambers,  or  any  part  of  them, 
you  can  see  the  Falls  rolling  and  tumbling,  and  roaring 
and  leaping,  all  day  long,  with  bright  rainbows  making 
fiery  arches  down  a hundred  feet  below  us.  When  the 
sun  is  on  them,  they  shine  and  glow  like  molten  gold. 
When  the  day  is  gloomy,  the  water  falls  like  snow,  or 
sometimes  it  seems  to  crumble  away  like  the  face  of  a 
great  chalk  cliff,  or  sometimes  again  to  roll  along  the  front 
of  the  rock  like  white  smoke.  But  it  all  seems  gay  or 
gloomy,  dark  or  light,  by  sun  or  moon.  From  the  bottom 
of  both  Falls,  there  is  always  rising  up  a solemn  ghostly 
cloud,  which  hides  the  boiling  cauldron  from  human  sight, 
and  makes  it  in  its  mystery  a hundred  times  more  grand 
than  if  you  could  see  all  the  secrets  that  lie  hidden  in  its 
tremendous  depth.  One  Fall  is  as  close  to  us  as  York 
Gate  is  to  No.  i,  Devonshire  Terrace.  The  other  (the 
great  Horse-shoe  Fall)  may  be,  perhaps,  about  half  as  far 
off  as  Creedy’s.”  * One  circumstance  in  connection  with 
them  is,  in  all  the  accounts,  greatly  exaggerated — I mean 
the  noise.  Last  night  was  perfectly  still.  Kate  and  I could 
just  hear  them,  at  the  quiet  time  of  sunset,  a mile  off. 
Whereas,  believing  the  statements  I had  heard  I began  put- 
ting my  ear  to  the  ground,  like  a savage  or  a bandit  in  a bal- 
let, thirty  miles  off,  when  we  were  coming  here  from  Buffalo. 


♦ Mr.  Macready’s — so  pronounced  by  one  of  Charles  Dickens’s  little  children. 


4 


* 


82 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


I was  delighted  to  receive  your  famous  letter,  and  to 
read  your  accounts  of  our  darlings,  whom  we  long  to  see 
with  an  intensity  it  is  impossible  to  shadow  forth,  ever  so 
faintly.  I do  believe,  though  I say  it  as  shouldn’t,  that 
they  kre  good  ^uns — both,  to  look  at  and  to  go.  I roared 
out  this  morning,  as  soon  as  I was  awake,  ‘‘Next  month,” 
which  we  have  been  longing  to  be  able  to  say  ever  since 
we  have  been  here.  I really  do  not  know  how  we  shall 
ever  knock  at  the  door,  when  that  slowest  of  all  impossibly 
slow  hackney-coaches  shall  pull  up — at  home.  . 

I am  glad  that  you  exult  in  the  fight  I have  had  about 
the  copyright.  If  you  knew  how  they  tried  to  stop  me, 
you  would  have  a still  greater  interest  in  it.  The  greatest 
men  in  England  have  sent  me  out,  through  Forster,  a very 
manly,  and  becoming,  and  spirited  memorial  and  address, 
backing  me  in  all  I have  done.  I have  despatched  it  to 
Boston  for  publication,  and  am  coolly  prepared  for  the 
storm  it  will  raise.  But  my  best  rod  is  in  pickle. 

Is  it  not  a horrible  thing  that  scoundrel  booksellers 
should  grow  rich  here  from  publishing  books,  the  authors 
of  which  do  not  reap  one  farthing  from  their  issue  by 
scores  of  thousands  ; and  that  every  vile  blackguard  and 
detestable  newspaper,  so  filthy  and  bestial  that  no  honest 
man  would  admit  one  into  his  house  for  a scullery  door^ 
mat,  should  be  able  to  publish  those  same  writings  side  by 
side,  cheek  by  jowl,  with  the  coarsest  and  most  obscene 
companions  with  which  they  must  become  connected,  in 
course  of  time,  in  people’s  minds  ? Is  it  tolerable  that 
besides  being  robbed  and  rifled  an  author  should  be  forced 


83 


LETTERS  OF  CHARI.ES  DICICENS. 

to  appear  in  any  form,  in 
cious  company  ; that  hc  ji 
audience,  no  control  over  \ 
he  should  be  compelled  to ; 
men  in  this  country  who  onl^^i^|^^ 
vow  before  high  heaven  that  myTSo««te^  these 

enormities,  that  when  I speak  about  them  I seem  to  grow 
twenty  feet  high,  and  to  swell  out  in  proportion.  “Rob- 
bers that  ye  are,”  I think  to  myself  when  I get  upon  my 
legs,  “ here  goes  ! ” 

The  places  we  have  lodged  in,  the  roads  we  have  gone 
over,  the  company  we  have  been  among,  the  tobacco- 
spittle  we  have  wallowed  in,  the  strange  customs  we  have 
complied  with,  the  packing-cases  in  which  we  have  trav- 
elled, the  woods,  swamps,  rivers,  prairies,  lakes,  and  moun- 
tains we  have  crossed,  are  all  subjects  for  legends  and 
tales  at  home  ; quires,  reams,  wouldn't  hold  them.  I don't 
think  Anne  has  so  much  as  seen  an  American  tree.  She 
never  looks  at  a prospect  by  any  chance,  or  displays  the 
smallest  emotion  at  any  sight  whatever.  She  objects  to 
Niagara  that  “ it's  nothing  but  water,''  and  considers  that 
“there  is  too  much  of  that.” 

I suppose  that  you  have  heard  that  I am  going  to  act  at 
the  Montreal  theatre  with  the  officers  ? Farce-books  being 
scarce,  and  the  choice  consequently  limited,  I have  se- 
lected Keeley’s  part  in  “ Two  o’Clock  in  the  Morning.”  I 
wrote  yesterday  to  Mitchell,  the  actor  and  manager  at  New* 
York,  to  get  and  send  me  a comic  wig,  light  flaxen,  with  a 
small  whisker  half  way  down  the  cheek  ; over  this  I mean 


84 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


to  wear  two  night-caps,  one  with  a tassel  and  one  of  flan- 
nel ; a flannel  wrapper,  drab  tights  and  slippers,  will  com- 
plete the  costume. 

I am  very  sorry  to  hear  that  business  is  so  flat,  but  the 
proverb  says  it  never  rains  but  it  pours,  and  it  may  be  re- 
marked with  equal  truth  upon  the  other  side,  that  it  never 
don't  rain  but  it  holds  up  very  much  indeed.  You  will  be 
busy  again  long  before  I come  home,  I have  no  doubt. 

We  purpose  leaving  this  on  Wednesday  morning.  Give 
my  love  to  Letitia  and  to  mother,  and  always  believe  me, 
my  dear  Henry,  Affectionately  yours. 

[7b  Mr.  Henry  Austin^ 

Montreal,  Canada,  May  \2th,  1842. 

All  well,  though  (with  the  exception  of  one  from  Fred) 
we  have  received  no  letters  whatever  by  the  Caledonia. 
We  have  experienced  impossible-to-be-described  attentions 
in  Canada.  Everybody's  carriage  and  horses  are  at  our 
disposal,  and  everybody's  servants  ; and  all  the  Govern- 
ment boats  and  boats'  crews.  We  shall  play,  between  the 
20th  and  25th,  A Roland  for  an  Oliver,"  Two  o'Clock 
in  the  Morning,"  and  Deaf  as  a Post." 


\2'oMr.  Thomas  Longman^ 

Athenaeum,  Friday  A ftemoon. 

My  dear  Sir, 

If  I could  possibly  have  attended  the  meeting  yester- 
day I would  most  gladly  have  done  so.  But  I have  been 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS,  85 

Up  the  whole  night,  and  was  too  much  exhausted  even  to 
write  and  say  so  before  the  proceedings  came  on. 

I have  fought  the  fight  across  the  Atlantic  with  the 
utmost  energy  I could  command  ; have  never  been  turned 
aside  by  any  consideration  for  an  instant  ; am  fresher  for 
the  fray  than  ever  ; will  battle  it  to  the  death,  and  die 
game  to  the  last. 

I am  happy  to  say  that  my  boy  is  quite  well  again. 
From  being  in  perfect  health  he  fell  into  alarming  con- 
vulsions with  the  surprise  and  joy  of  our  return. 

I beg  my  regards  to  Mrs.  Longman, 

And  am  always. 

Faithfully  yours. 


\To  Miss  Par  doe  i\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate,  Regent’s  Park, 

yuly  1842. 

Dear  Madam, 

I beg  to  set  you  right  on  one  point  in  reference  to  the 
American  robbers,  which  perhaps  you  do  not  quite  under- 
stand. 

The  existing  law  allows  them  to  reprint  any  English 
book,  without  any  communication  whatever  with  the 
author  or  anybody  else.  My  books  have  all  been  re- 
printed on  these  agreeable  terms. 

But  sometimes,  when  expectation  is  awakened  there 
about  a book  before  its  publication,  one  firm  of  pirates 
will  pay  a trifle  to  procure  early  proofs  of  it,  and  get  so 


86 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKEHS, 


much  the  start  of  the  rest  as  they  can  obtain  by  the  time 
necessarily  consumed  in  printing  it.  Directly  it  is  printed 
it  is  common  property,  and  may  be  reprinted  a thousand 
times.  My  circular  only  referred  to  such  bargains  as 
these. 

I should  add  that  I have  no  hope  of  the  States  doing 
justice  in  this  dishonest  respect,  and  therefore  do  not 
expect  to  overtake  these  fellows,  but  we  may  cry  Stop 
thief  ! ” nevertheless,  especially  as  they  wince  and  smart 
under  it. 

Faithfully  yours  always. 

[To  Mr,  H.  P,  Smith. ^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Thursday,  July  1842. 
My  dear  Smith, 

The  cheque  safely  received.  As  you  say,  it  would  be 
cheap  at  any  money.  My  devotion  to  the  fine  arts  ren- 
ders it  impossible  for  me  to  cash  it.  I have  therefore 
ordered  it  to  be  framed  and  glazed. 

I am  really  grateful  to  you  for  the  interest  you  take  in 
my  proceedings.  Next  time  I come  into  the  City  I will 
show  you  my  introductory  chapter  to  the  American  book. 
It  may  seem  to  prepare  the  reader  for  a much  greater 
amount  of  slaughter  than  he  will  meet  with  ; but  it  is 
honest  and  true.  Therefore  my  hand  does  not  shake. 

Best  love  and  regards.  Certainly  to  the  Richmond- 
ian intentions. 


Always  faithfully  your  Friend. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


87 


iTo  Mr.  Harrison  Ains7Vorthi\ 

Broadstairs,  Kent,  September  14//^,  1842. 
My  dear  Ainsworth, 

The  enclosed  has  been  sent  to  me  by  a young  gentle- 
man in  Devonshire  (of  whom  I know  no  more  than  that 
I have  occasionally,  at  his  request,  read  and  suggested 
amendments  in  some  of  his  writings),  with  a special  peti- 
tion that  I would  recommend  it  to  you  for  insertion  in 
your  magazine. 

I think  it  very  pretty,  and  I have  no  doubt  you  will  also. 
But  it  is  poetry,  and  may  be  too  long. 

He  is  a very  modest  young  fellow,  and  has  a decided 
ability. 

I hope  when  I come  home  at  the  end  of  the  month,  we 
shall  foregather  more  frequently.  Of  course  you  are  work- 
ing, tooth  and  nail ; and  of  course  I am. 

Kate  joins  me  in  best  regards  to  yourself  and  all  your 
house  (not  forgetting,  but  especially  remembering,  my  old 
friend,  Mrs.  Touchet),  and  I am  always. 

My  dear  Ainsworth, 

Heartily  yours. 


[ To  Mr.  Henry  Austin^ 

Broadstairs,  Sunday,  September  2^th,  1842. 
My  dear  Henry, 

I enclose  you  the  Niagara  letter,  with  many  thanks  for 
the  loan  of  it. 


88 


LETTERS  OF  CL/ARLES  DICKENS. 


Pray  tell  Mr.  Chadwick  that  I am  greatly  obliged  to  him 
for  his  remembrance  of  me,  and  I heartily  concur  with 
him  in  the  great  importance  and  interest  of  the  subject, 
though  I do  differ  from  him,  to  the  death,  on  his  crack 
topic — the  New  Poor-Law. 

I have  been  turning  my  thoughts  to  this  very  item  in 
the  condition  of  American  towns,  and  had  put  their  present 
aspects  strongly  before  the  American  people  ; therefore  I 
shall  read  his  report  with  the  greater  interest  and  attention. 

We  return  next  Saturday  night. 

If  you  will  dine  with  us  next  day  or  any  day  in  the 
week,  we  shall  be  truly  glad  and  delighted  to  see  you. 
Let  me  know,  then,  what  day  you  will  come. 

I need  scarcely  say  that  I shall  joyfully  talk  with  you 
about  the  Metropolitan  Improvement  Society,  then  or  at 
any  time  ; and  with  love  to  Letitia,  in  which  Kate  and  the 
babies  join,  I am  always,  my  dear  Henry, 

Affectionately  yours. 

P.S. — The  children’s  present  names  are  as  follows  : 

Katey  (from  a lurking  propensity  to  fieryness),  Lucifer 
Box. 

Mamey  (as  generally  descriptive  of  her  bearing).  Mild 
Glo’ster. 

Charley  (as  a corruption  of  Master  Toby),  Plaster  Floby. 

Walter  (suggested  by  his  high  cheek-bones).  Young 
Skull. 

Each  is  pronounced  with  a peculiar  howl,  which  I shall 
have  great  pleasure  in  illustrating. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


89 


\^To  Rev.  William  Harness l\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  November  1842. 
My  dear  Harness, 

Some  time  ago,  you  sent  me  a note  from  a friend  of 
yours,  a barrister,  I think,  begging  me  to  forward  to  him 
any  letters  I might  receive  from  a deranged  nephew  of  his, 
at  Newcastle.  In  the  midst  of  a most  bewildering  corre- 
spondence with  unknown  people,  on  every  possible  and  im- 
possible subject,  I have  forgotten  this  gentleman’s  name, 
though  I have  a kind  of  hazy  remembrance  that  he  lived 
near  Russell  Square.  As  the  Post  Office  would  be  rather 
puzzled,  perhaps,  to  identify  him  by  such  an  address,  may 
I ask  the  favour  of  you  to  hand  him  the  enclosed,  and  to 
say  that  it  is  the  second  I have  received  since  I returned, 
from  America  ? The  last,  I think,  was  a defiance  to  mortal 
combat.  With  best  remembrances  to  your  sister,  in  which 
Mrs.  Dickens  joins,  believe  me,  my  dear  Harness, 

Always  faithfully  yours. 

[To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready.^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Saturday^  Nov.  12th,  1842. 
My  dear  Macready, 

You  pass  this  house  every  day  on  your  way  to  or  from 
the  theatre.  I wish  you  would  call  once  as  you  go  by,  and 
soon,  that  you  may  have  plenty  of  time  to  deliberate  on 
what  I wish  to  suggest  to  you.  The  more  I think  of  Mar- 
ston’s  play,  the  more  sure  I feel  that  a prologue  to  the  pur- 
pose would  help  it  materially,  and  almost  decide  the  fate  of 


90 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


any  ticklish  point  on  the  first  night.  Now  I have  an  idea 
(not  easily  explainable  in  writing  but  told  in  five  words), 
that  would  take  the  prologue  out  of  the  conventional  dress 
of  prologues,  quite.  Get  the  curtain  up  with  a dash,  and 
begin  the  play  with  a sledge-hammer  blow.  If  on  consid- 
eration, you  should  think  with  me,  I will  write  the  pro- 
logue heartily. 

Faithfully  yours  ever. 

PROLOGUE 

To  Mr.  Marston’s  Play  of  “ The  Patrician's  Daughter.” 

No  tale  of  streaming  plumes  and  harness  bright 
Dwells  on  the  poet’s  maiden  harp  to-night  ; 

No  trumpet’s  clamour  and  no  battle’s  fire 
Breathes  in  the  trembling  accents  of  his  lyre  ; 

Enough  for  him,  if  in  his  lowly  strain 
He  wakes  one  household  echo  not  in  vain  ; 

Enough  for  him,  if  in  his  boldest  word 
The  beating  heart  of  MAN  be  dimly  heard. 

Its  solemn  music  which,  like  strains  that  sigh 
Through  charmed  gardens,  all  who  hearing  die  ; 

Its  solemn  music  he  does  not  pursue 
To  distant  ages  out  of  human  view  ; 

Nor  listen  to  its  wild  and  mournful  chime 
In  the  dead  caverns  on  the  shore  of  Time ; 

But  musing  with  a calm  and  steady  gaze 
Before  the  crackling  flames  of  living  days, 

He  hears  it  whisper  through  the  busy  roar 
Of  what  shall  be  and  what  has  been  before. 

Awake  the  Present  ! shall  no  scene  display 
The  tragic  passion  of  the  passing  day  ? 

Is  it  with  Man,  as  with  some  meaner  things. 

That  out  of  death  his  single  purpose  springs  ? 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


91 


Can  his  eventful  life  no  moral  teach 
Until  he  be,  for  aye,  beyond  its  reach? 

Obscurely  shall  he  suffer,  act,  and  fade, 

Dubb’d  noble  only  by  the  sexton’s  spade  ? 

Awake  the  Present  ! Though  the  steel-clad  age 
Find  life  alone  within  the  storied  page, 

Iron  is  worn,  at  heart,  by  many  still — 

The  tyrant  Custom  binds  the  serf -like  will ; 

If  the  sharp  rack*,  and  screw,  and  chain  be  gone. 
These  later  days  have  tortures  of  their  own  ; 

The  guiltless  writhe,  while  Guilt  is  stretched  in  sleep. 
And  Virtue  lies,  too  often,  dungeon  deep. 

Awake  the  Present  ! what  the  Past  has  sown 
Be  in  its  harvest  garner’d,  reap’d,  and  grown  ! 

How  pride  breeds  pride,  and  wrong  engenders  wrong. 
Read  in  the  volume  Truth  has  held  so  long. 

Assured  that  where  life’s  flowers  freshest  blow. 

The  sharpest  thorns  and  keenest  briars  grow. 

How  social  usage  has  the  pow’r  to  change 
Good  thoughts  to  evil  ; in  its  highest  range 
To  cramp  the  noble  soul,  and  turn  to  ruth 
The  kindling  impulse  of  our  glorious  youth. 

Crushing  the  spirit  in  its  house  of  clay. 

Learn  from  the  lessons  of  the  present  day. 

Not  light  its  import  and  not  poor  its  mien  ; 

Yourselves  the  actors,  and  your  homes  the  scene. 


\To  Mr,  W,  C.  Macrectdy?^ 

Saturday  Morning, 

My  dear  Macready, 

One  suggestion,  though  it  be  a late  one.  Do  have  upon 
the  table,  in  the  opening  scene  of  the  second  act,  some- 
thing in  a velvet  case,  or  frame,  that  may  look  like  a large 
miniature  of  Mabel,  such  as  one  of  Ross's,  and  eschew 
that  picture.  It  haunts  me  with  a sense  of  danger.  Even 


92 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


a titter  at  that  critical  time,  with  the  whole  of  that  act  be- 
fore you,  would  be  a fatal  thing.  The  picture  is  bad  in 
itself,  bad  in  its  effect  upon  the  beautiful  room,  bad  in  all 
its  associations  with  the  house.  In  case  of  your  having 
nothing  at  hand,  I send  you  by  bearer  what  would  be  a 
million  times  better.  Always,  my  dear  Macready, 

Faithfully  yours. 

P.S. — I need  not  remind  you  how  common  it  is  to  have 
such  pictures  in  cases  lying  about  elegant  rooms. 


\_To  Mr,  W,P,Frith:\ 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate,  Regent’s  Park, 

November  1842. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I shall  be  very  glad  if  you  will  do  me  the  favour  to 
paint  me  two  little  companion  pictures  ; one,  a Dolly  Var- 
den  (whom  you  have  so  exquisitely  done  already),  the 
other,  a Kate  Nickleby. 

Faithfully  yours  always. 

P.S. — I take  it  for  granted  that  the  original  picture  of 
Dolly  with  the  bracelet  is  sold  ? 


iToMr,  W.P,Frit/i.] 

Devonshire  Terrace,  November  i^th,  1842. 

My  dear  Sir, 

Pray  consult  your  own  convenience  in  the  matter  of  my 


LETTERS  OF  C/LA  RLE  S DLCKENS, 


93 


little  commission  ; whatever  suits  your  engagements  and 
prospects  will  best  suit  me. 

I saw  an  unfinished  proof  of  Dolly  at  Mitchell’s  some 
two  or  three  months  ago  ; I thought  it  was  proceeding  ex- 
cellently well  then.  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  see 
her  when  completed. 

Faithfully  yours. 


[ To  Mr,  Thomas  Hood,  ] 

Devonshire  Terrace,  November  1842. 
My  dear  Hood, 

In  asking  your  and  Mrs.  Hood’s  leave  to  bring  Mrs. 
D.’s  sister  (who  stays  with  us)  on  Tuesday,  let  me  add 
that  I should  very  much  like  to  bring  at  the  same  time  a 
very  unaffected  and  ardent  admirer  of  your  genius,  who 
has  no  small  portion  of  that  commodity  in  his  own  right, 
and  is  a very  dear  friend  of  mine  and  a very  famous  fel- 
low ; to  wit,  Maclise,  the  painter,  who  would  be  glad  (as 
he  has  often  told  me)  to  know  you  better,  and  would  be 
much  pleased,  I know,  if  I could  say  to  him,  “ Hood  wants 
me  to  bring  you.” 

I use  so  little  ceremony  with  you,  in  the  conviction  that 
you  will  use  as  little  with  me,  and  say,  My  dear  D. — 
Convenient ; ” or,  My  dear  D. — Ill-convenient  ” (as  the 
popular  phrase  is),  just  as  the  case  may  be.  Of  course,  I 
have  said  nothing  to  him. 

Always  heartily  yours, 

Boz. 


94 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


[7^?  Mrs.  Trollope^ 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate,  Regent’s  Park, 

December  1842. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Trollope, 

Let  me  thank  you  most  cordially  for  your  kind  note,  in 
reference  to  my  Notes,  which  has  given  me  true  pleasure 
and  gratification. 

As  I never  scrupled  to  say  in  America,  so  I can  have 
no  delicacy  in  saying  to  you,  that,  allowing  for  the  change 
you  worked  in  many  social  features  of  American  society, 
and  for  the  time  that  has  passed  since  you  wrote  of  the 
country,  I am  convinced  that  there  is  no  writer  who  has 
so  well  and  accurately  (I  need  not  add  so  entertainingly) 
described  it,  in  many  of  its  aspects,  as  you  have  done  ; and 
this  renders  your  praise  the  more  valuable  to  me.  I do 
not  recollect  ever  to  have  heard  or  seen  the  charge  of  ex- 
aggeration made  against  a feeble  performance,  though  in 
its  feebleness,  it  may  have  been  most  untrue.  It  seems  to 
me  essentially  natural,  and  quite  inevitable,  that  common 
observers  should  accuse  an  uncommon  one  of  this  fault, 
and  I have  no  doubt  that  you  were  long  ago  of  this  opin- 
ion ; very  much  to  your  own  comfort. 

Mrs.  Dickens  begs  me  to  thank  you  for  your  kind  re- 
membrance of  her,  and  to  convey  to  you  her  best  regards. 
Always  believe  me.  Faithfully  yours. 

[ To  Mr.  George  Cattermole?\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  December  20tky  1842. 
My  dear  George, 

It  is  impossible  for  me  to  tell  you  how  greatly  I am 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS. 


95 


charmed  with  those  beautiful  pictures,  in  which  the  whole 
feeling  and  thought  and  expression  of  the  little  story  is 
rendered  to  the  gratification  of  my  inmost  heart ; and  on 
which  you  have  lavished  those  amazing  resources  of  yours 
with  a power  at  which  I fairly  wondered  when  I sat  down 
yesterday  before  them. 

I took  them  to  Mac,  straightway,  in  a cab,  and  it  would 
have  done  you  good  if  you  could  have  seen  and  heard 
him.  You  can’t  think  how  moved  he  was  by  the  old  man 
in  the  church,  or  how  pleased  I was  to  have  chosen  it  be- 
fore he  saw  the  drawing. 

You  are  such  a queer  fellow  and  hold  yourself  so  much 
aloof,  that  I am  afraid  to  say  half  I would  say  touching 
my  grateful  admiration  ; so  you  shall  imagine  the  rest.  I 
enclose  a note  from  Kate,  to  which  I hope  you  will  bring 
the  only  one  acceptable  reply.  Always,  my  dear  Catter- 
mole, 


Faithfully  yours. 


BOOK  II, 

1843  TO  1857. 


1843. 


NARRATIVE. 

We  have,  unfortunately,  very  few  letters  of  interest  in 
this  year.  But  we  are  able  to  give  the  commencement  of 
Charles  Dickens's  correspondence  with  his  beloved  friends, 
Mr.  Douglas  Jerrold  and  Mr.  Clarkson  Stanfield  ; with  Lord 
Morpeth  (afterwards  Lord  Carlisle),  for  whom  he  always 
entertained  the  highest  regard  ; and  with  Mr.  Charles 
Babbage. 

He  was  at  work  upon  Martin  Chuzzlewit " until  the 
end  of  the  year,  when  he  also  wrote  and  published  the 
first  of  his  Christmas  stories — ^^The  Christmas  Carol." 

He  was  much  distressed  by  the  sad  fate  of  Mr.  Elton  (a 
respected  actor),  who  was  lost  in  the  wreck  of  the  Pegasus y 
and  was  very  eager  and  earnest  in  his  endeavours  to  raise 
a fund  on  behalf  of  Mr.  Elton's  children. 

We  are  sorry  to  be  unable  to  give  any  explanation  as  to 
the  nature  of  the  Cockspur  Street  Society,  mentioned  in 
this  first  letter  to  Mr.  Charles  Babbage.  But  we  publish 
it  notwithstanding,  considering  it  to  be  one  of  general 
interest. 

The  Little  History  of  England  " was  never  finished — 
not,  that  is  to  say,  the  one  alluded  to  in  the  letter  to  Mr. 
Jerrold. 

Mr.  David  Dickson  kindly  furnishes  us  with  an  explana- 
tion of  the  letter  dated  loth  May.  ^‘It  was,"  he  says,  in 
answer  to  a letter  from  me,  pointing  out  that  the  ‘ Shep- 
99 


lOO 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


herd  ' in  ‘ Pickwick  ’ was . apparently  reflecting  on  the 
scriptural  doctrine  of  the  new  birth/’ 

The  beginning  of  the  letter  to  Mr.  Jerrold  (15th  June) 
is,  as  will  be  readily  understood,  an  imaginary  cast  of  a 
purely  imaginary  play.  A portion  of  this  letter  has  already 
been  published,  in  Mr.  Blanchard  Jerrold’s  life  of  his 
father.  It  originated  in  a proposal  of  Mr.  Webster’s — the 
manager  of  the  Haymarket  Theatre — to  give  five  hundred 
pounds  for  a prize  comedy  by  an  English  author. 

The  opera  referred  to  in  the  letter  to  Mr.  R.  H.  Horne 
was  called  ^‘The  Village  Coquettes,”  and  the  farce  was 
The  Strange  Gentleman,”  already  alluded  to  by  us,  in 
connection  with  a letter  to  Mr.  Harley. 


[7h  Mr.  Charles  Babbage^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  April  2^th,  1843. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I write  to  you,  confidentially.,  in  answer  to  your  note  of 
last  night,  and  the  tenor  of  mine  will  tell  you  why. 

You  may  suppose,  from  seeing  my  name  in  the  printed 
letter  you  have  received,  that  I am  favourable  to  the  pro- 
posed society.  I am  decidedly  opposed  to  it.  I went 
there  on  the  day  I was  in  the  chair,  after  much  solicita- 
tion ; and  being  put  into  it,  opened  the  proceedings  by 
telling  the  meeting  that  I approved  of  the  design  in  theory, 
but  in  practice  considered  it  hopeless.  I may  tell  you — 
I did  not  tell  them — that  the  nature  of  the  meeting,  and 
the  character  and  position  of  many  of  the  men  attending 
it,  cried  Failure  ” trumpet- tongued  in  my  ears.  To  quote 
an  expression  from  Tennyson,  I may  say  that  if  it  were 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


lOI 


the  best  society  in  the  world,  the  grossness  of  some  natures 
in  it  would  have  weight  to  drag  it  down. 

In  the  wisdom  of  all  you  urge  in  the  notes  you  have 
sent  me,  taking  them  as  statements  of  theory,  I entirely 
concur.  But  in  practice,  I feel  sure  that  the  present  pub- 
lishing system  cannot  be  overset  until  authors  are  different 
men.  The  first  step  to  be  taken  is  to  move  as  a body  in 
the  question  of  copyright,  enforce  the  existing  laws,  and 
try  to  obtain  better.  For  that  purpose  I hold  that  the 
authors  and  publishers  must  unite,  as  the  wealth,  business 
habits,  and  interest  of  that  latter  class  are  of  great  impor- 
tance to  such  an  end.  The  Longmans  and  Murray  have 
been  with  me  proposing  such  an  association.  That  I shall 
support.  But  having  seen  the  Cockspur  Street  Society,  I 
am  as  well  convinced  of  its  invincible  hopelessness  as  if  I 
saw  it  written  by  a celestial  penman  in  the  Book  of  Fate. 

My  dear  Sir, 

Always  faithfully  yours. 


[7h  Mr.  Douglas  Jerroldl\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  May  2>rd,  1843. 

My  dear  Jerrold, 

Let  me  thank  you  most  cordially  for  your  books,  not 
only  for  their  own  sakes  (and  I have  read  them  with  per- 
fect delight),  but  also  for  this  hearty  and  most  welcome 
mark  of  your  recollection  of  the  friendship  we  have  estab- 
lished ; in  which  light  I know  I may  regard  and  prize 
them. 


102 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


I am  greatly  pleased  with  your  opening  paper  in  the  Il- 
luminated. It  is  very  wise,  and  capital  ; written  with  the 
finest  end  of  that  iron  pen  of  yours  ; witty,  much  needed, 
and  full  of  truth.  I vow  to  God  that  I think  the  parrots 
of  society  are  more  intolerable  and  mischievous  than  its 
birds  of  prey.  If  ever  I destroy  myself,  it  will  be  in  the 
bitterness  of  hearing  those  infernal  and  damnably  good  old 
times  extolled.  Once,  in  a fit  of  madness,  after  having 
been  to  a public  dinner  which  took  place  just  as  this  Min- 
istry came  in,  I wrote  the  parody  I send  you  enclosed,  for 
Fonblanque.  There  is  nothing  in  it  but  wrath  ; but  that’s 
wholesome,  so  I send  it  you. 

I am  writing  a little  history  of  England  for  my  boy,  which 
I will  send  you  when  it  is  printed  for  him,  though  your 
boys  are  too  old  to  profit  by  it.  It  is  curious  that  I have 
tried  to  impress  upon  him  (writing,  I daresay,  at  the  same 
moment  with  you)  the  exact  spirit  of  your  paper,  for  I 
don’t  know  what  I should  do  if  he  were  to  get  hold  of  any 
Conservative  or  High  Church  notions  ; and  the  best  way 
of  guarding  against  any  such  horrible  result  is,  I take  it, 
to  wring  the  parrots’  necks  in  his  very  cradle. 

Oh  Heaven,  if  you  could  have  been  with  me  at  a hospi- 
tal dinner  last  Monday  ! There  were  men  there  who  made 
such  speeches  and  expressed  such  sentiments  as  any  mod- 
erately intelligent  dustman  would  have  blushed  through 
his  cindery  bloom  to  have  thought  of.  Sleek,  slobbering, 
bow-paunched,  over-fed,  apoplectic,  snorting  cattle,  and 
the  auditory  leaping  up  in  their  delight  ! I never  saw  such 
an  illustration  of  the  power  of  purse,  or  felt  so  degraded 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


103 


and  debased  by  its  contemplation,  since  I have  had  eyes 
and  ears.  The  absurdity  of  the  thing  was  too  horrible  to 
laugh  at.  It  was  perfectly  overwhelming.  But  if  I could 
have  partaken  it  with  anybody  who  would  have  felt  it  as 
you  would  have  done,  it  would  have  had  quite  another  as- 
pect ; or  would  at  least,  like  a ‘‘  classic  mask  ” (oh  d 

that  word  !)  have  had  one  funny  side  to  relieve  its  dismal 
features. 

Supposing  fifty  families  were  to  emigrate  into,  the  wilds 
of  North  America — yours,  mine,  and  forty-eight  others — 
picked  for  their  concurrence  of  opinion  on  all  important 
subjects  and  for  their  resolution  to  found  a colony  of  com- 
mon-sense, how  soon  would  that  devil.  Cant,  present  itself 
among  them  in  one  shape  or  other  ? The  day  they  landed, 
do  you  say,  or  the  day  after  ? 

That  is  a great  mistake  (almost  the  only  one  I know)  in 
the  “ Arabian  Nights,’’  when  the  princess  restores  people 
to  their  original  beauty  by  sprinkling  them  with  the  golden 
water.  It  is  quite  clear  that  she  must  have  made  monsters 
of  them  by  such  a christening  as  that. 

My  dear  Jerrold, 

Faithfully  your  Friend. 

[7h  Mr.  David  Dickson^ 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate,  Regent’s  Park, 

May  10th,  1843. 

Sir, 

Permit  me  to  say,  in  reply  to  your  letter,  that  you  do 
not  understand  the  intention  (I  dare  say  the  fault  is  mine) 


104 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


of  that  passage  in  the  Pickwick  Papers  ’’  which  has 
given  you  offence.  The  design  of  the  Shepherd  ” and 
of  this  and  every  other  allusion  to  him  is,  to  show  how 
sacred  things  are  degraded,  vulgarized,  and  rendered  ab- 
surd when  persons  who  are  utterly  incompetent  to  teach 
the  commonest  things  take  upon  themselves  to  expound 
such  mysteries,  and  how,  in  making  mere  cant  phrases  of 
divine  words,  these  persons  miss  the  spirit  in  which  they 
had  their  origin.  I have  seen  a great  deal  of  this  sort  of 
thing  in  many  parts  of  England,  and  I never  knew  it  lead 
to  charity  or  good  deeds. 

Whether  the  great  Creator  of  the  world  and  the  creature 
of  his  hands,  moulded  in  his  own  image,  be  quite  so  oppo- 
site in  character  as  you  believe,  is  a question  which  it 
would  profit  us  little  to  discuss.  I like  the  frankness  and 
candour  of  your  letter  and  thank  you  for  it.  That  every 
man  who  seeks  heaven  must  be  born  again,  in  good  thoughts 
of  his  Maker,  I sincerely  believe.  That  it  is  expedient  for 
every  hound  to  say  so  in  a certain  snuffling  form  of  words, 
to  which  he  attaches  no  good  meaning,  I do  not  believe. 
I take  it  there  is  no  difference  between  us. 

Faithfully  yours. 

\To  Mr.  Douglas  Jerrold^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  June  i2>(h,  1843. 

My  dear  Jerrold, 

Yes,  you  have  anticipated  my  occupation.  Chuzzlewit 

be  d d.  High  comedy  and  five  hundred  pounds  are 

the  only  matters  I can  think  of.  I call  it  The  One  Thing 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  I05 

Needful ; or,  A Part  is  Better  than  the  Whole/’  Here  are 
the  characters  : 

Old  Febrile Mr.  Farren. 

Young  Febrile  (his  son) Mr.  Howe. 

Jack  Hessians  (his  Friend) Mr.  W.  Lacy. 

Chalks  (a  Landlord) Mr.  Gough. 

Hon.  Harry  Staggers Mr.  Mellon. 

Sir  Thomas  Tip Mr.  Buckstone. 

Swig Mr.  Webster. 

The  Duke  of  Leeds Mr.  Coutts. 

Sir  Smivin  Growler Mr.  Macready. 

Servants,  Gamblers,  Visitors,  etc. 

Mrs.  Febrile Mrs.  Gallot. 

Lady  Tip Mrs.  Humby. 

Mrs.  Sour Mrs.  W.  Clifford. 

Fanny Miss  A.  Smith. 

One  scene,  where  Old  Febrile  tickles  Lady  Tip  in  the 
ribs,  and  afterwards  dances  out  with  his  hat  behind  him, 
his  stick  before,  and  his  eyes  on  the  pit,  I expect  will  bring 
the  house  down.  There  is  also  another  point,  where  Old 
Febrile,  at  the  conclusion  of  his  disclosure  to  Swig,  rises 
and  says  : And  now.  Swig,  tell  me,  have  I acted  well  ? ” 

And  Swig  says  : “Well,  Mr.  Febrile,  have  you  overacted 
ill  ? ” which  will  carry  off  the  piece. 

Herne  Bay.  Hum.  I suppose  it’s  no  worse  than  any 
other  place  in  this  weather,  but  it’s  watery  rather — isn’t  it? 
In  my  mind’s  eye  I have  the  sea  in  a perpetual  state  of 
smallpox  ; and  the  chalk  running  down  hill  like  town  milk. 
But  I know  the  comfort  of  getting  to  work  in  a fresh  place, 
and  proposing  pious  projects*  to  one’s  self,  and  having  the 
more  substantial  advantage  of  going  to  bed  early  and  get- 
5* 


io6 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


ting  up  ditto,  and  walking  about  alone.  I should  like  to 
deprive  you  of  the  last-named  happiness,  and  to  take  a 
good  long  stroll,  terminating  in  a public-house,  and  what- 
ever they  chanced  to  have  in  it.  But  fine  days  are  over, 
I think.  The  horrible  misery  of  London  in  this  weather, 
with  not  even  a fire  to  make  it  cheerful,  is  hideous. 

But  I have  my  comedy  to  fly  to.  My  only  comfort ! I 
walk  up  and  down  the  street  at  the  back  of  the  theatre 
every  night,  and  peep  in  at  the  green-room  window,  think- 
ing of  the  time  when  Dick — ins  will  be  called  for  by 
excited  hundreds,  and  won’t  come  till  Mr.  Webster  (half 
Swig  and  half  himself)  shall  enter  from  his  dressing-room, 
and  quelling  the  tempest  with  a smile,  beseech  that  wizard, 
if  he  be  in  the  house  (here  he  looks  up  at  my  box),  to  accept 
the  congratulations  of  the  audience,  and  indulge  them  with  a 
sight  of  the  man  who  has  got  five  hundred  pounds  in  money, 
and  it’s  impossible  to  say  how  much  in  laurel.  Then  I shall 
come  forward,  and  bow  once — twice — thrice — roars  of  ap- 
probation— Bray  VO — brarvo — hooray — hoorar — hooroar — 
one  cheer  more  ; and  asking  Webster  home  to  supper,  shall 
declare  eternal  friendship  for  that  public-spirited  individual. 

They  have  not  sent  me  the  Illustrated  Magazine.” 
What  do  they  mean  by  that  ? You  don’t  say  your  daugh- 
ter is  better,  so  I hope  you  mean  that  she  is  quite  well. 
My  wife  desires  her  best  regards. 

I am  always,  my  dear  Jerrold, 

Faithfully  your  Friend, 

The  Congreve  of  the  Nineteenth  Century 

(which  I mean  to  be  called  in  the  Sunday  papers). 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


107 


P.S. — I shall  dedicate  it  to  Webster,  beginning : My 

dear  Sir, — When  you  first  proposed  to  stimulate  the  slum- 
bering dramatic  talent  of  England,  I assure  you  I had  not 
the  least  idea  — etc.  etc.  etc. 

[ To  Mr.  Clarkson  Stanjieldl\ 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace,  July  1843. 
My  dear  Stanfield, 

I am  chairman  of  a committee,  whose  object  is  to  open 
a subscription,  and  arrange  a benefit  for  the  relief  of  the 
seven  destitute  children  of  poor  Elton  the  actor,  who  was 
drowned  in  the  Pegasus,  They  are  exceedingly  anxious 
to  have  the  great  assistance  of  your  name  ; and  if  you  will 
allow  yourself  to  be  announced  as  one  of  the  body,  I do 
assure  you  you  will  help  a very  melancholy  and  distressful 
cause. 

Faithfully  always. 

P.S. — The  committee  meet  to-night  at  the  Freemasons’, 
at  eight  o’clock. 

[7b  Lord  Morpeihl\ 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate,  Regent’s  Park, 

August  1843. 

Dear  Lord  Morpeth, 

In  acknowledging  the  safe  receipt  of  your  kind  donation 
in  behalf  of  poor  Mr.  Elton’s  orphan  children,  I hope  you 
will  suffer  me  to  address  you  with  little  ceremony,  as  the 
best  proof  I can  give  you  of  my  cordial  reciprocation  of 


I08  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

all  you  say  in  your  most  welcome  note.  I have  long 
esteemed  you  and  been  your  distant  but  very  truthful 
admirer  ; and  trust  me  that  it  is  a real  pleasure  and  happi- 
ness to  me  to  anticipate  the  time  when  we  shall  have  a 
nearer  intercourse. 

Believe  me,  with  sincere  regard, 

Faithfully  your  Servant. 

iTo  Mr.  William  Harrison  Ainsworth^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  October  i2,th,  1843. 
My  dear  Ainsworth, 

I want  very  much  to  see  you,  not  having  had  that  old 
pleasure  for  a long  time.  I am  at  this  moment  deaf  in  the 
ears,  hoarse  in  the  throat,  red  in  the  nose,  green  in  the 
gills,  damp  in  the  eyes,  twitchy  in  the  joints,  and  fractious 
in  the  temper  from  a most  intolerable  and  oppressive  cold, 
caught  the  other  day,  I suspect,  at  Liverpool,  where  I got 
exceedingly  wet ; but  I will  make  prodigious  efforts  to  get 
the  better  of  it  to-night  by  resorting  to  all  conceivable 
remedies,  and  if  I succeed  so  as  to  be  only  negatively 
disgusting  to-morrow,  I will  joyfully  present  myself  at  six, 
and  bring  my  womankind  along  with  me. 

Cordially  yours. 

[7h  Mr.  R.  H.  Horne. \ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  November  i^th^  1843. 


Pray  tell  that  besotted 


to  let  the  opera  sink  into  its 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCLCENS. 


109 


native  obscurity.  I did  it  in  a fit  of  d ^ble  good  nature 

long  ago,  for  Hullah,  who  wrote  some  very  pretty  music  to 
it.  I just  put  down  for  everybody  what  everybody  at  the 
St.  James’s  Theatre  wanted  to  say  and  do,  and  that  they 
could  say  and  do  best,  and  I have  been  most  sincerely  re- 
pentant ever  since.  The  farce  I also  did  as  a sort  of  prac- 
tical joke,  for  Harley,  whom  I have  known  a long  time. 
It  was  funny — adapted  from  one  of  the  published  sketches 
called  the  Great  Winglebury  Duel,”  and  was  published 
by  Chapman  and  Hall.  But  I have  no  copy  of  it  now, 
nor  should  I think  they  have.  But  both  these  things 
were  done  without  the  least  consideration  or  regard  to 
reputation. 

I wouldn’t  repeat  them  for  a thousand  pounds  apiece, 
and  devoutly  wish  them  to  be  forgotten.*  If  you  will  im- 
press this  on  the  waxy  mind  of I shall  be  truly  and 

unaffectedly  obliged  to  you. 

Always  faithfully  yours. 


1844. 

NARRATIVE. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year  the  house  in  Devonshire  Ter- 
race was  let,  and  Charles  Dickens  started  with  his  family 
for  Italy,  going  first  to  a villa  at  Albaro,  near  Genoa,  for 
a few  months,  and  afterwards  to  the  Palazzo  Pescheire, 
Genoa.  Towards  the  end  of  this  year  he  made  excursions 
to  the  many  places  of  interest  in  this  country,  and  was 
joined  at  Milan  by  his  wife  and  sister-in-law,  previous  to 
his  own  departure  alone  on  a business  visit  to  England. 


I lO 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


He  had  written  his  Christmas  story,  The  Chimes,’’  and 
was  anxious  to  take  it  himself  to  England,  and  to  read  it 
to  some  of  his  most  intimate  friends  there. 

Mr.  Macready  went  to  America  and  returned  in  the 
autumn,  and  towards  the  end  of  the  year  he  paid  a profes- 
sional visit  to  Paris. 

Charles  Dickens’s  letter  to  his  wife  (26th  February) 
treats  of  a visit  to  Liverpool,  where  he  went  to  take  the 
chair  on  the  opening  of  the  Mechanics’  Institution  and  to 
make  a speech  on  education.  The  Fanny  ” alluded  to 
was  his  sister,  Mrs.  Burnett ; the  Britanniay  the  ship  in 
which  he  and  Mrs.  Dickens  made  their  outward  trip  to 
America  ; the  ^^Mrs.  Bean,”  the  stewardess,  and^^Hewett,” 
the  captain,  of  that  same  vessel. 

The  letter  to  Mr.  Charles  Knight  was  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  receipt  of  a prospectus  entitled  “ Book  Clubs 
for  all  readers.”  The  attempt,  which  fortunately  proved 
completely  successful,  was  to  establish  a cheap  book  club. 
The  scheme  was,  that  a number  of  families  should  combine 
together,  each  contributing  about  three  halfpennies  a week; 
which  contribution  would  enable  them,  by  exchanging  the 
volumes  among  them,  to  have  sufficient  reading  to  last  the 
year.  The  publications,  which  were  to  be  made  as  cheap 
as  possible,  could  be  purchased  by  families  at  the  end  of 
the  year,  on  consideration  of  their  putting  by  an  extra 
penny  a week  for  that  purpose.  Charles  Dickens,  who  al- 
ways had  the  comfort  and  happiness  of  the  working-classes 
greatly  at  heart,  was  much  interested  in  this  scheme  of 
Mr.  Charles  Knight’s,  and  highly  approved  of  it.  Charles 
Dickens  and  this  new  correspondent  became  subsequently 
true  and  fast  friends. 

Martin  Chuzzlewit  ” was  dramatised  in  the  early  au- 
tumn of  this  year,  at  the  Lyceum  Theatre,  which  was  then 
under  the  management  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Keeley. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


1 1 1 


Charles  Dickens  superintended  some  rehearsals,  but  had 
left  England  before  the  play  was  acted  in  public. 

The  man  Roche,”  alluded  to  in  his  letter  to  Mr.  Mac- 
lise,  was  the  French  courier  engaged  to  go  with  the  family 
to  Italy.  He  remained  as  servant  there,  and  was  with 
Charles  Dickens  through  all  his  foreign  travels.  His  many 
excellent  qualities  endeared  him  to  the  whole  family,  and 
his  master  never  lost  sight  of  this  faithful  servant  until 
poor  Roche’s  untimely  death  in  1849. 

The  Rev.  Edward  Tagart  was  a celebrated  Unitarian 
minister,  and  a very  highly  esteemed  and  valued  friend. 

The  Chickenstalker  ” (letter  to  Mrs.  Dickens,  Novem- 
ber 8th),  is  an  instance  of  the  eccentric  names  he  was 
constantly  giving  to  his  children,  and  these  names  he  fre- 
quently made  use  of  in  his  books. 

In  this  year  we  have  our  first  letter  to  Mr.  (afterwards 
Sir  Edwin)  Landseer,  for  whom  Charles  Dickens  had  the 
highest  admiration  and  personal  regard. 


\To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Januaryy^rd^  1844. 

My  very  dear  Macready, 

You  know  all  the  news,  and  you  know  I love  you  ; so  I 
no  more  know  why  I write  than  I do  why  I come  round  ” 
after  the  play  to  shake  hands  with  you  in  your  dressing- 
room.  I say  come,  as  if  you  were  at  this  present  moment 

the  lessee  of  Drury  Lane,  and  had  with  a long  face 

on  one  hand, elaborately  explaining  that  everything 

in  creation  is  a joint-stock  company  on  the  other,  the  in- 
imitable B.  by  the  fire,  in  conversation  with . Well- 


II2 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


a-day ! I see  it  all,  and  smell  that  extraordinary  com- 
pound of  odd  scents  peculiar  to  a theatre,  which  bursts 
upon  me  when  I swing  open  the  little  door  in  the  hall, 
accompanies  me  as  I meet  perspiring  supers  in  the  narrow 
passage,  goes  with  me  up  the  two  steps,  crosses  the  stage, 
winds  round  the  third  entrance  P.S.  as  I wind,  and  escorts 
me  safely  into  your  presence,  where  I find  you  unwinding 
something  slowly  round  and  round  your  chest,  which  is  so 
long  that  no  man  can  see  the  end  of  it. 

Oh  that  you  had  been  at  Clarence  Terrace  on  Nina’s 
birthday  ! Good  God,  how  we  missed  you,  talked  of  you, 
drank  your  health,  and  wondered  what  you  were  doing ! 
Perhaps  you  are  Falkland  enough  (I  swear  I suspect  you 
of  it)  to  feel  rather  sore — just  a little  bit,  you  know,  the 
merest  trifle  in  the  world — on  hearing  that  Mrs.  Macready 
looked  brilliant,  blooming,  young,  and  handsome,  and  that 
she  danced  a country  dance  with  the  writer  hereof  (Acres 
to  your  Falkland)  in  a thorough  spirit  of  becoming  good 
humour  and  enjoyment.  Now  you  don’t  like  to  be  told 
that?  Nor  do  you  quite  like  to  hear  that  Forster  and  I 
conjured  bravely  ; that  a plum-pudding  was  produced  from 
an  empty  saucepan,  held  over  a blazing  fire  kindled  in 
Stanfield’s  hat  without  damage  to  the  lining ; that  a box  of 
bran  was  changed  into  a live  guinea-pig,  which  ran  between 
my  godchild’s  feet,  and  was  the  cause  of  such  a shrill  up- 
roar and  clapping  of  hands  that  you  might  have  heard  it 
(and  I daresay  did)  in  America;  that  three  half-crowns 
being  taken  from  Major  Burns  and  put  into  a tumbler-glass 
before  his  eyes,  did  then  and  there  give  jingling  answers 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS.  II3 

to  the  questions  asked  of  them  by  me,  and  knew  where 
you  were  and  what  you  were  doing,  to  the  unspeakable 
admiration  of  the  whole  assembly.  Neither  do  you  quite 
like  to  be  told  that  we  are  going  to  do  it  again  next  Satur- 
day, with  the  addition  of  demoniacal  dresses  from  the  mas- 
querade shop  ; nor  that  Mrs.  Macready,  for  her  gallant 
bearing  always,  and  her  best  sort  of  best  affection,  is  the 
best  creature  I know.  Never  mind  ; no  man  shall  gag 
me,  and  those  are  my  opinions. 

My  dear  Macready,  the  lecturing  proposition  is  not  to 
be  thought  of.  I have  not  the  slightest  doubt  or  hesita- 
tion in  giving  you  my  most  strenuous  and  decided  advice 
against  it.  Looking  only  to  its  effect  at  home,  I am  im- 
movable in  my  conviction  that  the  impression  it  would 
produce  would  be  one  of  failure,  and  a reduction  of  your- 
self to  the  level  of  those  who  do  the  like  here.  To  us  who 
know  the  Boston  names  and  honour  them,  and  who  know 
Boston  and  like  it  (Boston  is  what  I would  have  the  whole 
United  States  to  be),  the  Boston  requisition  would  be  a 
valuable  document,  of  which  you  and  your  friends  might 
be  proud.  But  those  names  are  perfectly  unknown  to  the 
public  here,  and  would  produce  not  the  least  effect.  The 
only  thing  known  to  the  public  here  is,  that  they  ask  (when 
I say  they  ” I mean  the  people)  everybody  to  lecture. 
It  is  one  of  the  things  I have  ridiculed  in  Chuzzlewit.” 
Lecture  you,  and  you  fall  into  the  roll  of  Lardners,  Van- 
denhoffs,  Eltons,  Knowleses,  Buckinghams.  You  are  off 
your  pedestal,  have  flung  away  your  glass  slipper,  and 
changed  your  triumphal  coach  into  a seedy  old  pumpkin. 


1 14 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


I am  quite  sure  of  it,  and  cannot  express  my  strong  con- 
viction in  language  of  sufficient  force. 

Puff-ridden  ! why  to  be  sure  they  are.  The  nation 
is  a miserable  Sindbad,  and  its  boasted  press  the  loath- 
some, foul  old  man  upon  his  back,  and  yet  they  will  tell 
you,  and  proclaim  to  the  four  winds  for  repetition  here, 
that  they  don’t  need  their  ignorant  and  brutal  papers,  as  if 
the  papers  could  exist  if  they  didn’t  need  them  ! Let  any 
two  of  these  vagabonds,  in  any  town  you  go  to,  take  it  into 
their  heads  to  make  you  an  object  of  attack,  or  to  direct 
the  general  attention  elsewhere,  and  what  avail  those  won- 
derful images  of  passion  which  you  have  been  all  your  life 
perfecting  ! 

I have  sent  you,  to  the  charge  of  our  trusty  and  well- 
beloved  Golden,  a little  book  I published  on  the  17  th  of 
December,  and  which  has  been  a most  prodigious  success 
— the  greatest,  I think,  I have  ever  achieved.  It  pleases 
me  to  think  that  it  will  bring  you  home  for  an  hour  or  two, 
and  I long  to  hear  you  have  read  it  on  some  quiet  morn- 
ing. Do  they  allow  you  to  be  quiet,  by-the-way  ? Some 
of  our  most  fashionable  people,  sir,”  denounced  me  awfully 
for  liking  to  be  alone  sometimes. 

Now  that  we  have  turned  Christmas,  I feel  as  if  your 
face  were  directed  homewards,  Macready.  The  downhill 
part  of  the  road  is  before  us  now,  and  we  shall  travel  on 
to  midsummer  at  a dashing  pace  ; and,  please  Heaven,  I 
will  be  at  Liverpool  when  you  come  steaming  up  the  Mer- 
sey, with  that  red  funnel  smoking  out  unutterable  things, 
and  your  heart  much  fuller  than  your  trunks,  though  some- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS,  H5 

thing  lighter  ! If  I be  not  the  first  Englishman  to  shake 
hands  with  you  on  English  ground,  the  man  who  gets  be- 
fore me  will  be  a brisk  and  active  fellow,  and  even  then 
need  put  his  best  leg  foremost.  So  I warn  Forster  to  keep 
in  the  rear,  or  he’ll  be  blown. 

If  you  shall  have  any  leisure  to  project  and  put  on 
paper  the  outline  of  a scheme  for  opening  any  theatre  on 
your  return,  upon  a certain  list  subscribed,  and  on  certain 
understandings  with  the  actors,  it  strikes  me  that  it  would 
be  wise  to  break  ground  while  you  are  still  away.  Of  course 
I need  not  say  that  I will  see  anybody  or  do  anything — 
even  to  the  calling  together  of  the  actors — if  you  should 
ever  deem  it  desirable.  My  opinion  is  that  our  respected 

and  valued  friend  Mr. will  stagger  through  another 

season,  if  he  don’t  rot  first.  I understand  he  is  in  a partial 
state  of  decomposition  at  this  minute.  He  was  very  ill, 

but  got  better.  How  is  it  that always  do  get  better, 

and  strong  hearts  are  so  easy  to  die  ? 

Kate  sends  her  tender  love ; so  does  Georgy,  so  does 
Charlie,  so  does  Mamey,  so  does  Katey,  so  does  Walter, 
so  does  the  other  one  who  is  to  be  born  next  week.  Look 
homeward  always,  as  we  look  abroad  to  you.  God  bless 
you,  my  dear  Macready. 

Ever  your  affectionate  Friend. 

[7b  Mr.  Laman  Blanchard?^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Janua7y  4M,  1844. 
My  dear  Blanchard, 

I cannot  thank  you  onough  for  the  beautiful  manner 


Il6  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

and  the  true  spirit  of  friendship  in  which  you  have  noticed 
my  Carol/’  But  I must  thank  you  because  you  have 
filled  my  heart  up  to  the  brim,  and  it  is  running  over. 

You  meant  to  give  me  great  pleasure,  my  dear  fellow, 
and  you  have  done  it.  The  tone  of  your  elegant  and 
fervent  praise  has  touched  me  in  the  tenderest  place.  I 
cannot  write  about  it,  and  as  to  talking  of  it,  I could  no 
more  do  that  than  a dumb  man.  I have  derived  inex- 
pressible gratification  from  what  I know  was  a labour  of 
love  on  your  part.  And  I can  never  forget  it. 

When  I think  it  likely  that  I may  meet  you  (perhaps  at 
Ainsworth’s  on  Friday?)  I shall  slip  a “Carol”  into  my 
pocket  and  ask  you  to  put  it  among  your  books  for  my 
sake.  You  will  never  like  it  the  less  for  having  made  it 
the  means  of  so  much  happiness  to  me. 

Always,  my  dear  Blanchard, 

Faithfully  your  Friend. 


\To  Mrs.  Charles  Dickens l\ 

Liverpool,  Radley’s  Hotel,  Monday ^ Feb,  26th^  1844. 
My  dear  Kate, 

I got  down  here  last  night  (after  a most  intolerably  wet 
journey)  before  seven,  and  found  Thompson  sitting  by 
my  fire.  He  had  ordered  dinner,  and  we  ate  it  pleasantly 
enough,  and  went  to  bed  in  good  time.  This  morning, 
Mr.  Yates,  the  great  man  connected  with  the  Institution 
(and  a brother  of  Ashton  Yates’s),  called.  I went  to  look 
at  it  with  him.  It  is  an  enormous  place,  and  the  tickets 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS.  II/ 

have  been  selling  at  two  and  even  three  guineas  apiece. 
The  lecture-room,  in  which  the  celebration  is  held,  will 
accommodate  over  thirteen  hundred  people.  It  was  being 
fitted  with  gas  after  the  manner  of  the  ring  at  Astley’s.  I 
should  think  it  an  easy  place  to  speak  in,  being  a semi- 
circle with  seats  rising  one  above  another  to  the  ceiling, 
and  will  have  eight  hundred  ladies  to-night,  in  full  dress. 
I am  rayther  shaky  just  now,  but  shall  pull  up,  I have  no 
doubt.  At  dinner-time  to-morrow  you  will  receive,  I hope, 
a facetious  document  hastily  penned  after  I return  to- 
night, telling  you  how  it  all  went  off. 

When  I came  back  here,  I found  Fanny  and  Hewett 
had  picked  me  up  just  before.  We  all  went  off  straight  to 
the  Britannia^  which  lay  where  she  did  when  we  went  on 
board.  We  went  into  the  old  little  cabin  and  the  ladies’ 
cabin,  but  Mrs.  Bean  had  gone  to  Scotland,  as  the  ship 
does  not  sail  again  before  May.  In  the  saloon  we  had 
some  champagne  and  biscuits,  and  Hewett  had  set  out 
upon  the  table  a block  of  Boston  ice,  weighing  fifty  pounds. 
Scott,  of  the  Caledonia^  lunched  with  us — a very  nice  fel- 
low. He  saw  Macready  play  Macbeth  in  Boston,  and 
gave  me  a tremendous  account  of  the  effect.  Poor  Bur- 
roughs, of  the  George  Washington^  died  on  board,  on  his 
last  passage  home.  His  little  wife  was  with  him. 

Hewett  dines  with  us  to-day,  and  I have  procured  him 
admission  to-night.  I am  very  sorry  indeed  (and  so  was 
he),  that  you  didn’t  see  the  old  ship.  It  was  the  strangest 
thing  in  the  world  to  go  on  board  again. 

I had  Bacon  with  me  as  far  as  Watford  yesterday,  and 


Il8  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

very  pleasant.  Shell  was  also  in  the  train,  on  his  way  to 
Ireland. 

Give  my  best  love  to  Georgy,  and  kisses  to  the  darlings. 
Also  affectionate  regards  to  Mac  and  Forster. 

Ever  affectionately. 

OUT  OF  THE  COMMON— PLEASE. 

Dickens  against  The  World. 

Charles  Dickens,  of  No.  i,  Devonshire  Terrace,  York 
Gate,  Regent’s  Park,  in  the  county  of  Middlesex,  gentle- 
man, the  successful  plaintiff  in  the  above  cause,  maketh 
oath  and  saith  : That  on  the  day  and  date  hereof,  to  wit 
at  seven  o’clock  in  the  evening,  he,  this  deponent,  took 
the  chair  at  a large  assembly  of  the  Mechanics’  Institution 
at  Liverpool,  and  that  having  been  received  with  tremen- 
dous and  enthusiastic  plaudits,  he,  this  deponent,  did  im- 
mediately dash  into  a vigorous,  brilliant,  humorous,  pa- 
thetic, eloquent,  fervid,  and  impassioned  speech.  That 
the  said  speech  was  enlivened  by  thirteen  hundred  per- 
sons, with  frequent,  vehement,  uproarious,  and  deafening 
cheers,  and  to  the  best  of  this  deponent’s  knowledge  and 
belief,  he,  this  deponent,  did  speak  up  like  a man,  and 
did,  to  the  best  of  his  knowledge  and  belief,  considerably 
distinguish  himself.  That  after  the  proceedings  of  the 
opening  were  over,  and  a vote  of  thanks  was  proposed  to 
this  deponent,  he,  this  deponent,  did  again  distinguish 
himself,  and  that  the  cheering  at  that  time,  accompanied 
with  clapping  of  hands  and  stamping  of  feet,  was  in  this 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS,  HQ 

deponent’s  case  thundering  and  awful.  And  this  depo- 
nent further  saith,  that  his  white-and-black  or  magpie 
waistcoat,  did  create  a strong  sensation,  and  that  during 
the  hours  of  promenading,  this  deponent  heard  from  per- 
sons surrounding  him  such  exclamations  as,  What  is  it  ! 
Is  it  a waistcoat  ? No,  it’s  a shirt  ” — and  the  like — all  of 
which  this  deponent  believes  to  have  been  complimentary 
and  gratifying  ; but  this  deponent  further  saith  that  he  is 
now  going  to  supper,  and  wishes  he  may  have  an  appetite 
to  eat  it. 

Charles  Dickens. 

Sworn  before  me,  at  the  Adelphi  " 

Hotel,  Liverpool,  on  the  26th 
of  February,  1844. 

S.  Radley. 

\To  Mr.  Clarkson  Stanfieldl\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  April  2>oth,  1844. 
My  dear  Stanfield, 

The  Sanatorium,  or  sick  house  for  students,  governesses, 
clerks,  young  artists,  and  so  forth,  who  are  above  hospi- 
tals, and  not  rich  enough  to  be  well  attended  in  illness 
in  their  own  lodgings  (you  know  its  objects),  is  going  to 
have  a dinner  at  the  London  Tavern,  on  Tuesday,  the  5 th 
of  June. 

The  Committee  are  very  anxious  to  have  you  for  a 
steward,  as  one  of  the  heads  of  a large  class  ; and  I have 
told  them  that  I have  no  doubt  you  will  act.  There  is  no 
steward’s  fee  or  collection  whatever. 


120 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


They  are  particularly  anxious  also  to  have  Mr.  Etty  and 
Edwin  Landseer.  As  you  see  them  daily  at  the  Academy, 
will  you  ask  them  or  show  them  this  note  ? Sir  Martin 
•became  one  of  the  Committee  some  few  years  ago,  at 
my  solicitation,  as  recommending  young  artists  struggling 
alone  in  London  to  the  better  knowledge  of  this  establish- 
ment. 

The  dinner  is  to  comprise  the  new  feature  of  ladies 
dining  at  the  tables  with  gentlemen — not  looking  down 
upon  them  from  the  gallery.  I hope  in  your  reply  you 
will  not  only  book  yourself,  but  Mrs.  Stanfield  and  Mary. 
It  will  be  very  brilliant  and  cheerful  I hope.  Dick  in 
the  chair.  Gentlemen’s  dinner-tickets  a guinea,  as  usual ; 
ladies’,  twelve  shillings.  I think  this  is  all  I have  to 
say,  except  (which  is  nonsensical  and  needless)  that  I am 
always. 

Affectionately  yours. 

\_To  Mr,  Edwin  Landseer^ 

AxHENi^:uM,  Monday  Mornings  May  2*]thy  1844. 
My  dear  Landseer, 

I have  let  my  house  with  such  delicious  promptitude, 
or,  as  the  Americans  would  say,  with  sich  everlass’in 
slickness  and  al-mity  sprydom,”  that  we  turn  out  to-night ! 
in  favour  of  a widow  lady,  who  keeps  it  all  the  time  we 
are  away  ! 

Wherefore  if  you,  looking  up  into  the  sky  this  evening 
between  five  and  six  (as  possibly  you  may  be,  in  search  of 
the  spring),  should  see  a speck  in  the  air — a mere  dot — 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


I2I 


which,  growing  larger  and  larger  by  degrees,  appears  in 
course  of  time  to  be  an  eagle  (chain  and  all)  in  a light 
cart,  accompanied  by  a raven  of  uncommon  sagacity, 
curse  that  good  nature  which  prompted  you  to  say  it — 
that  you  would  give  them  house-room.  And  do  it  for  the 
love  of  Boz. 

P.S. — The  writer  hereof  may  be  heerd  on  by  personal 
enquiry  at  No.  9,  Osnaburgh  Terrace,  New  Road. 

[7b  Mr,  Charles  Knight?^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  June  /\fh,  1844. 

My  dear  Sir, 

Many  thanks  for  your  proof,  and  for  your  truly  gratify- 
ing mention  of  my  name.  I think  the  subject  excellently 
chosen,  the  introduction  exactly  what  it  should  be,  the 
allusion  to  the  International  Copyright  question  most  hon- 
ourable and  manly,  and  the  whole  scheme  full  of  the 
highest  interest.  I had  already  seen  your  prospectus,  and 
if  I can  be  of  the  feeblest  use  in  advancing  a project  so 
intimately  connected  with  an  end  on  which  my  heart  is 
set — the  liberal  education  of  the  people — I shall  be  sin- 
cerely glad.  All  good  wishes  and  success  attend  you  ! 

Believe  me  always, 

Faithfully  yours. 

{To  Mr.  Dudley  Costello. \ 

June  1844. 

Dear  Sir, 

Mrs.  Harris,  being  in  that  delicate  state  (just  confined, 
6 


122 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


and  “ made  comfortable/’  in  fact),  hears  some  sounds 
below,  which  she  fancies  may  be  the  owls  (or  howls)  of  the 
husband  to  whom  she  is  devoted.  They  ease  her  mind 
by  informing  her  that  these  sounds  are  only  organs.  By 

they  ” I mean  the  gossips  and  attendants.  By  organs” 
I mean  instrumental  boxes  with  barrels  in  them,  which  are 
commonly  played  by  foreigners  under  the  windows  of  peo- 
ple of  sedentary  pursuits,  on  a speculation  of  being  bribed 
to  leave  the  street.  Mrs.  Harris,  being  of  a confiding  na- 
ture, believed  in  this  pious  fraud,  and  was  fully  satisfied 
“that  his  owls  was  organs.” 

Faithfully  yours. 

[ To  Mr.  Robert  Keeley^ 

9,  OSNABURGH  Terrace,  Monday  Evening,  June  2^th,  1844. 
My  dear  Sir, 

I have  been  out  yachting  for  two  or  three  days  ; and 
consequently  could  not  answer  your  letter  in  due  course. 

I cannot,  consistently  with  the  opinion  I hold  and  have 
always  held,  in  reference  to  the  principle  of  adapting  novels 
for  the  stage,  give  you  a prologue  to  “ Chuzzlewit.”  But 
believe  me  to  be  quite  sincere  in  saying  that  if  I felt  I 
could  reasonably  do  such  a thing  for  anyone,  I would  do 
it  for  you. 

I start  for  Italy  on  Monday  next,  but  if  you  have,  the 
piece  on  the  stage,  and  rehearse  on  Friday,  I will  gladly 
come  down  at  any  time  you  may  appoint  on  that  morning, 
and  go  through  it  with  you  all.  If  you  be  not  in  a suffi- 
ciently forward  state  to  render  this  proposal  convenient  to 


LETTERS  OF  CL/ARLES  DICKENS. 


123 


you,  or  likely  to  assist  your  preparations,  do  not  take  the 
trouble  to  answer  this  note. 

I presume  Mrs.  Keeley  will-  do  Ruth  Pinch.  If  so,  I 
feel  secure  about  her,  and  of  Mrs.  Gamp  I am  certain. 
But  a queer  sensation  begins  in  my  legs,  and  comes  up- 
ward to  my  forehead,  when  I think  of  Tom. 

Faithfully  yours  always. 

VTo  Mr.  Daniel  Maclise.~\ 

Villa  di  Bagnarello,  Albaro,  Monday,  July  22nd,  1844. 
My  very  dear  Mac, 

I address  you  with  something  of  the  lofty  spirit  of  an 
exile — a banished  commoner — a sort  of  Anglo-Pole.  I 
don't  exactly  know  what  I have  done  for  my  country  in 
coming  away  from  it  ; but  I feel  it  is  something — some- 
thing great — something  virtuous  and  heroic.  Lofty  emo- 
tions rise  within  me,  when  I see  the  sun  set  on  the  blue 
Mediterranean.  I am  the  limpet  on  the  rock.  My  fath- 
er's name  is  Turner,  and  my  boots  are  green. 

Apropos  of  blue.  In  a certain  picture,  called  The 
Serenade,"  you  painted  a sky.  If  you  ever  have  occasion 
to  paint  the  Mediterranean,  let  it  be  exactly  of  that  colour. 
It  lies  before  me  now,  as  deeply  and  intensely  blue.  But 
no  such  colour  is  above  me.  Nothing  like  it.  In  the 
South  of  France — at  Avignon,  at  Aix,  at  Marseilles — I saw 
deep  blue  skies  (not  so  deep  though — oh  Lord,  no  !),  and 
also  in  America  ; but  the  sky  above  me  is  familiar  to  my 
sight.  Is  it  heresy  to  say  that  I have  seen  its  twin-brother 


124  LETTERS  OF  CL/A  RTFS  DICKENS. 

shining  through  the  window  of  Jack  Straw's — that  down 
in  Devonshire  I have  seen  a better  sky?  I daresay  it  is  ; 
but  like  a great  many  other  heresies,  it  is  true. 

But  such  green — green — green — as  flutters  in  the  vine- 
yard down  below  the  windows,  that  I never  saw  ; nor  yet 
such  lilac,  and  such  purple  as  float  between  me  and  the, 
distant  hills  ; nor  yet — in  anything — picture,  book,  or  ver- 
bal boredom — such  awful,  solemn,  impenetrable  blue,  as 
is  that  same  sea.  It  has  such  an  absorbing,  silent,  deep, 
profound  effect,  that  I can't  help  thinking  it  suggested  the 
idea  of  Styx.  It  looks  as  if  a draught  of  it — only  so  much 
as  you  could  scoop  up  on  the  beach,  in  the  hollow  of  your 
hand — would  wash  out  everything  else,  and  make  a great 
blue  blank  of  your  intellect. 

When  the  sun  sets  clearly,  then,  by  Heaven,  it  is  majes- 
tic ! From  any  one  of  eleven  windows  here,  or  from  a 
terrace  overgrown  with  grapes,  you  may  behold  the  broad 
sea  ; villas,  houses,  mountains,  forts,  strewn  with  rose  leaves 
— strewn  with  thorns — stifled  in  thorns  ! Dyed  through 
and  through  and  through.  For  a moment.  No  more.  The 
sun  is  impatient  and  fierce,  like  everything  else  in  these 
parts,  and  goes  down  headlong.  Run  to  fetch  your  hat — 
and  it's  night.  Wink  at  the  right  time  of  black  night — 
and  it's  morning.  Everything  is  in  extremes.  There  is 
an  insect  here  (I  forget  its  name,  and  Fletcher  and  Roche 
are  both  out)  that  chirps  all  day.  There  is  one  outside 
the  window  now.  The  chirp  is  very  loud,  something  like 
a Brobdingnagian  grasshopper.  The  creature  is  born  to 
chirp — to  progress  in  chirping — to  chirp  louder,  louder, 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICICENS, 


125 


louder — till  it  gives  one  tremendous  chirp,  and  bursts  itself. 
That  is  its  life  and  death.  Everything  is  in  a concate- 
nation accordingly.”  The  day  gets  brighter,  brighter, 
brighter,  till  it’s  night.  The  summer  gets  hotter,  hotter, 
hotter,  till  it  bursts.  The  fruit  gets  riper,  riper,  riper,  till 
it  tumbles  down  and  rots. 

Ask  me  a question  or  two  about  fresco — will  you  be  so 
good  ? All  the  houses  are  painted  in  fresco  hereabout — 
the  outside  walls  I mean  ; the  fronts,  and  backs,  and  sides 
— and  all  the  colour  has  run  into  damp  and  green  seedi- 
ness, and  the  very  design  has  struggled  away  into  the  com- 
ponent atoms  of  the  plaster.  Sometimes  (but  not  often)  I 
can  make  out  a virgin  with  a mildewed  glory  round  her 
head  ; holding  nothing,  in  an  indiscernible  lap,  with  invisi- 
ble arms  ; and  occasionally  the  leg  or  arms  of  a cherub, 
but  it  is  very  melancholy  and  dim.  There  are  two  old 
fresco-painted  vases  outside  my  own  gate — one  on  either 
hand — which  are  so  faint  that  I never  saw  them  till  last 
night ; and  only  then  because  I was  looking  over  the  wall 
after  a lizard,  who  had  come  upon  me  while  I was  smok- 
ing a cigar  above,  and  crawled  over  one  of  those  embellish- 
ments to  his  retreat.  There  is  a church  here — the  Church 
cf  the  Annunciation — which  they  are  now  (by  they  ” I 
mean  certain  noble  families)  restoring  at  a vast  expense, 
as  a work  of  piety.  It  is  a large  church,  with  a great  many 
little  chapels  in  it,  and  a very  high  dome.  Every  inch  of 
this  edifice  is  painted,  and  every  design  is  set  in  a great 
gold  frame  or  border  elaborately  wrought.  You  can  im- 
agine nothing  so  splendid.  It  is  worth  coming  the  whole 


126 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


distance  to  see.  But  every  sort  of  splendour  is  in  per- 
petual enactment  through  the  means  of  these  churches. 
Gorgeous  processions  in  the  streets,  illuminations  of  win- 
dows on  festa  nights  ; lighting  up  of  lamps  and  clustering 
of  flowers  before  the  shrines  of  saints  ; all  manner  of  show 
and  display.  The  doors  of  the  churches  stand  wide  open; 
and  in  this  hot  weather  great  red  curtains  flutter  and  wave 
in  their  palaces  ; and  if  you  go  and  sit  in  one  of  these  to 
get  out  of  the  sun,  you  see  the  queerest  figures  kneeling 
against  pillars,  and  the  strangest  people  passing  in  and  out, 
and  vast  streams  of  women  in  veils  (they  don't  wear  bon- 
nets), with  great  fans  in  their  hands,  coming  and  going, 
that  you  are  never  tired  of  looking  on.  Except  in  the 
churches,  you  would  suppose  the  city  (at  this  time  of  year) 
to  be  deserted,  the  people  keep  so  close  within  doors. 
Indeed  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  go  out  in  the  heat.  I 
have  only  been  into  Genoa  twice  myself.  We  are  deli- 
ciously cool  here,  by  comparison  ; being  high,  and  having 
the  sea  breeze.  There  is  always  some  shade  in  the  vine- 
yard, too  ; and  underneath  the'  rocks  on  the  sea- shore,  so 
if  I choose  to  saunter  I can  do  it  easily,  even  in  the  hot 
time  of  the  day.  I am  as  lazy,  however,  as — as  you  are, 
and  do  little  but  eat  and  drink  and  read. 

As  I am  going  to  transmit  regular  accounts  of  all  sight- 
seeings and  journey ings  to  Forster,  who  will  show  them  to 
you,  I will  not  bore  you  with  descriptions,  however.  I 
hardly  think  you  allow  enough  for  the  great  brightness  and 
brilliancy  of  colour  which  is  commonly  achieved  on  the 
Continent,  in  that  same  fresco  painting.  I saw  some — by 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  FICKENS.  \2J 

a French  artist  and  his  jDupil — in  progress  at  the  cathedral 
at  Avignon,  which  was  as  bright  and  airy  as  anything  can 
be, — nothing  dull  or  dead  about  it  ; and  I have  observed 
quite  fierce  and  glaring  colours  elsewhere. 

We  have  a piano  now  (there  was  none  in  the  house),  and 
have  fallen  into  a pretty  settled  easy  track.  We  breakfast 
about  half-past  nine  or  ten,  dine  about  four,  and  go  to  bed 
about  eleven.  We  are  much  courted  by  the  visiting  peo- 
ple, of  course,  and  I very  much  resort  to  my  old  habit  of 
bolting  from  callers,  and  leaving  their  reception  to  Kate. 
Green  figs  I have  already  learned  to  like.  Green  almonds 
(we  have  them  at  dessert  every  day)  are  the  most  delicious 
fruit  in  the  world.  And  green  lemons,  combined  with 
some  rare  hollands  that  is  to  be  got  here,  make  prodigious 
punch,  I assure  you.  You  ought  to  come  over,  Mac  ; but 
I don’t  expect  you,  though  I am  sure  it  would  be  a very 
good  move  for  you.  I have  not  the  smallest  doubt  of  that. 
Fletcher  has  made  a sketch  of  the  house,  and  will  copy  it 
in  pen-and-ink  for  transmission  to  you  in  my  next  letter. 
I shall  look  out  for  a place  in  Genoa,  between  this  and 
the  winter  time.  In  the  meantime,  the  people  who  come 
out  here  breathe  delightedly,  as  if  they  had  got  into  an- 
other climate.  Landing  in  the  city,  you  would  hardly 
suppose  it  possible  that  there  could  be  such  an  air  within 
two  miles. 

Write  to  me  as  often  as  you  can,  like  a dear  good  fel- 
low, and  rely  on  the  punctuality  of  my  correspondence. 
Losing  you  and  Forster  is  like  losing  my  arms  and  legs, 
and  dull  and  lame  I am  without  you.  But  at  Broadstairs 


128 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


next  year,  please  God,  when  it  is  all  over,  I shall  be  very 
glad  to  have  laid  up  such  a store  of  recollections  and  im- 
provement. 

I don’t  know  what  to  do  with  Timber.  He  is  as  ill- 
adapted  to  the  climate  at  this  time  of  year  as  a suit  of  fur. 
I have  had  him  made  a lion  dog  ; but  the  fleas  flock  in 
such  crowds  into  the  hair  he  has  left,  that  they  drive  him 
nearly  frantic,  and  renders  it  absolutely  necessary  that  he 
should  be  kept  by  himself.  Of  all  the  miserable  hideous 
little  frights  you  ever  saw,  you  never  beheld  such  a devil. 
Apropos,  as  we  were  crossing  the  Seine  within  two  stages 
of  Paris,  Roche  suddenly  said  to  me,  sitting  by  me  on  the 
box  : The  littel  dog  ’ave  got  a great  lip  ! ” I was  think- 

ing of  things  remote  and  very  different,  and  couldn’t  com- 
prehend why  any  peculiarity  in  this  feature  on  the  part  of 
the  dog  should  excite  a man  so  much.  As  I was  musing 
upon  it,  my  ears  were  attracted  by  shouts  of  Helo  ! hola  ! 
Hi,  hi,  hi ! Le  voila  ! Regardez  ! ” and  the  like.  And 
looking  down  among  the  oxen — we  were  in  the  centre  of  a 
numerous  drove — I saw  him.  Timber,  lying  in  the  road^ 
curled  up — you  know  his  way — like  a lobster,  only  not  so 
stiff,  yelping  dismally  in  the  pain  of  his  lip  ” from  the 
roof  of  the  carriage  ; and  between  the  aching  of  his  bones, 
his  horror  of  the  oxen,  and  his  dread  of  me  (who  he 
evidently  took  to  be  the  immediate  agent  in  and  cause  of 
the  damage),  singing  out  to  an  extent  which  I believe  to 
be  perfectly  unprecedented  ; while  every  Frenchman  and 
French  boy  within  sight  roared  for  company.  He  wasn’t 
hurt. 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


129 


Kate  and  Georgina  send  their  best  loves  ; and  the 
children  add  theirs.”  Katey,  in  particular,  desires  to 
be  commended  to  Mr.  Teese.”  She  has  a sore  throat ; 
from  sitting  in  constant  draughts,  I suppose  ; but  with  that 
exception,  we  are  all  quite  well.  Ever  believe  me,  my 
dear  Mac, 

Your  affectionate  Friend. 

[Yh  Rev.  Edward  Tagart^ 

Albaro,  near  Genoa,  Friday^  August  1844. 
My  dear  Sir, 

I find  that  if  I wait  to  write  you  a long  letter  (which  has 
been  the  cause  of  my  procrastination  in  fulfilling  my  part 
of  our  agreement),  I am  likely  to  wait  some  time  longer. 
And  as  I am  very  anxious  to  hear  from  you  ; not  the  less 
so,  because  if  I hear  of  you  through  my  brother,  who 
usually  sees  you  once  a week  in  my  absence  ; I take  pen 
in  hand  and  stop  a messenger  who  is  going  to  Genoa.  For 
my  main  object  being  to  qualify  myself  for  the  receipt  of 
a letter  from  you,  I don’t  see  why  a ten -line  qualification 
is  not  as  good  as  one  of  a hundred  lines. 

You  told  me  it  was  possible  that  you  and  Mrs.  Tagart 
might  wander  into  these  latitudes  in  the  autumn.  I wish 
you  would  carry  out  that  infant  intention  to  the  utmost. 
It  would  afford  us  the  truest  delight  and  pleasure  to  receive 
you.  If  you  come  in  October,  you  will  find  us  in  the 
Palazzo  Peschiere,  in  Genoa,  which  is  surrounded  by  a 

delicious  garden,  and  is  a most  charming  habitation  in  all 
6* 


130 


LETTERS  OF  C/LA  REES  DICICENS. 


respects.  If  you  come  in  September,  you  will  find  us  less 
splendidly  lodged,  but  on  the  margin  of  the  sea,  and  in  the 
midst  of  vineyards.  The  climate  is  delightful  even  now  ; 
the  heat  being  not  at  all  oppressive,  except  in  the  actual 
city,  which  is  what  the  Americans  would  call  considerable 
fiery,  in  the  middle  of  the  day.  But  the  sea-breezes  out 
here  are  refreshing  and  cool  every  day,  and  the  bathing  in 
the  early  morning  is  something  more  agreeable  than  you 
can  easily  imagine.  The  orange  trees  of  the  Peschiere 
shall  give  you  their  most  fragrant  salutations  if  you  come 
to  us  at  that  time,  and  we  have  a dozen  spare  beds  in  that 
house  that  I know  of ; to  say  nothing  of  some  vast  cham- 
bers here  and  there  with  ancient  iron  chests  in  them,  where 
Mrs.  Tagart  might  enact  Ginevra  to  perfection,  and  never 
be  found  out.  To  prevent  which,  I will  engage  to  watch 
her  closely,  if  she  will  only  come  and  see  us. 

The  flies  are  incredibly  numerous  just  now.  The  un- 
sightly blot  a little  higher  up  was  occasioned  by  a very 
fine  one  who  fell  into  the  inkstand,  and  came  out,  unex- 
pectedly, on  the  nib  of  my  pen.  We  are  all  quite  well, 
thank  Heaven,  and  had  a very  interesting  journey  here,  of 
which,  as  well  as  of  this  place,  I will  not  write  a word,  lest 
I should  take  the  edge  off  those  agreeable  conversations 
with  which  we  will  beguile  our  walks. 

Pray  tell  me  about  the  presentation  of  the  plate,  and 
whether  — — was  very  slow,  or  trotted  at  all,  and  if  so, 
when.  He  is  an  excellent  creature,  and  I respect  him  very 
much,  so  I don't  mind  smiling  when  I think  of  him  as  he 
appeared  when  addressing  you  and  pointing  to  the  plate, 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  I3I 

with  his  head  a little  on  one  side,  and  one  of  his  eyes 
turned  up  languidly. 

Also,  let  me  know  exactly  how  you  are  travelling,  and 
when,  and  all  about  it ; that  I may  meet  you  with  open 
arms  on  the  threshold  of  the  city,  if  happily  you  bend 
your  steps  this  way.  You  had  better  address  me,  Poste 
Restante,  Genoa,’’  as  the  Albaro  postman  gets  drunk,  and 
when  he  has  lost  letters,  and  is  sober,  sheds  tears — which 
is  affecting,  but  hardly  satisfactory. 

Kate  and  her  sister  send  their  best  regards  to  yourself, 
and  Mrs.  and  Miss  Tagart,  and  all  your  family,  I heartily 
join  them  in  all  kind  remembrances  and  good  wishes.  As 
the  messenger  has  just  looked  in  at  the  door,  and  shedding 
on  me  a balmy  gale  of  onions,  has  protested  against  being 
detained  any  longer,  I will  only  say  (which  is  not  at  all 
necessary)  that  I am  ever. 

Faithfully  yours, 

P.S. — There  is  a little  to  see  here,  in  the  church  way,  I 
assure  you. 


\To  Mr.  Clm^kson  Stanfield?^ 

Albaro,  Saturday  Nighty  August  24th,  1844. 
My  dear  Stanfield, 

I love  you  so  truly,  and  have  such  pride  and  joy  of  heart 
in  your  friendship,  that  I don't  know  how  to  begin  writing 
to  you.  When  I think  how  you  are  walking  up  and  down 
London  in  that  portly  surtout,  and  can't  receive  proposals 
from  Dick  to  go  to  the  theatre,  I fall  into  a state  between 


132 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


laughing  and  crying,  and  want  some  friendly  back  to  smite. 

Je-im  ! ” Aye,  aye,  your  honour,’'  is  in  my  ears  every 
time  I walk  upon  the  sea-shore  here  ; and  the  number  of 
expeditions  I make  into  Cornwall  in  my  sleep,  the  springs 
of  Flys  I break,  the  songs  I sing,  and  the  bowls  of  punch 
I drink,  would  soften  a heart  of  stone. 

We  have  had  weather  here,  since  five  o’clock  this  morn- 
ing, after  your  own  heart.  Suppose  yourself  the  Admiral 
in  Black-eyed  Susan  ” after  the  acquittal  of  William,  and 
when  it  was  possible  to  be  on  friendly  terms  with  him.  I 
am  T.  P.^  My  trousers  are  very  full  at  the  ankles,  my 
black  neckerchief  is  tied  in  the  regular  style,  the  name  of 
my  ship  is  painted  round  my  glazed  hat,  I have  a red 
waistcoat  on,  and  the  seams  of  my  blue  jacket  are  paid  ” 
— permit  me  to  dig  you  in  the  ribs  when  I make  use  of  this 
nautical  expression — with  white.  In  my  hand  I hold  the 
very  box  connected  with  the  story  of  Sandomingerbilly.  I 
lift  up  my  eyebrows  as  far  as  I can  (on  the  T.  P.  model), 
take  a quid  from  the  box,  screw  the  lid  on  again  (chewing 
at  the  same  time,  and  looking  pleasantly  at  the  pit),  brush 
it  with  my  right  elbow,  take  up  my  right  leg,  scrape  my 
right  foot  on  the  ground,  hitch  up  my  trousers,  and  in  re- 
ply to  a question  of  yours,  namely,  Indeed,  what  weather, 
William  ? ” I deliver  myself  as  follows  : 

Lord  love  your  honour  ! Weather  ! Such  weather  as  would  set  all 
hands  to  the  pumps  aboard  one  of  your  fresh-water  cockboats,  and 
set  the  purser  to  his  wit’s  ends  to  stow  away,  for  the  use  of  the  ship’s 


* T.  P.  Cooke,  the  celebrated  actor  of  “William”  in  Douglas  Jerrold’s  play  of 
“ Black-eyed  Susan.” 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


133 


company,  the  casks  and  casks  full  of  blue  water  as  would  come  pow- 
ering in  over  the  gunnel ! The  dirtiest  night,  your  honour,  as  ever 
you  see  ’atween  Spithead  at  gun-fire  and  the  Bay  of  Biscay  ! The 
wind  sou’-west,  and  your  house  dead  in  the  wind’s  eye  ; the  breakers 
running  up  high  upon  the  rocky  beads,  the  light’us  no  more  looking 
through  the  fog  than  Davy  Jones’s  sarser  eye  through  the  blue  sky  of 
heaven  in  a calm,  or  the  blue  toplights  of  your  honour’s  lady  cast 
dov/n  in  a modest  overhauling  of  her  catheads  : avast ! {whistling)  my 
dear  eyes  ; here  am  I a-goin’  head  on  to  the  breakers  {bowing. 

Admiral  {smiling.  No,  William  ! I admire  plain  speaking,  as 
you  know,  and  so  does  old  England,  William,  and  old  England’s 
Queen.  But  you  were  saying 

William.  Aye,  aye,  your  honour  {scratching  his  head).  I’ve  lost 
my  reckoning.  Damme — I ast  pardon — but  won’t  your  honour  throw 
a hencoop  or  any  old  end  of  towline  to  a man  as  is  overboard  ? 

Admiral  {smiling  still).  You  were  saying,  William,  that  the 
wind 

William  {again  cocking  his  leg,  and  slapping  the  thighs  very  hard). 
Avast  heaving,  your  honour  ! I see  your  honour’s  signal  fluttering  in  the 
breeze,  without  a glass.  As  I was  a-saying,  your  honour,  the  wind  was 
blowin’  from  the  sou’-west,  due  sou’west,  your  honour,  not  a pint  to  lar- 
board nor  a pint  to  starboard  ; the  clouds  a-gatherin’  in  the  distance 
for  all  the  world  like  Beachy  Head  in  a fog,  the  sea  a-rowlin’  in,  in 
heaps  of  foam,  and  making  higher  than  the  mainyard  arm,  the  craft 
a-scuddin’  by  all  taut  and  under  storms’ils  for  the  harbour ; not  a 
blessed  star  a-twinklin’  out  aloft — aloft,  your  honour,  in  the  little 
cherubs’  native  country — and  the  spray  is  flying  like  the  white  foam 
from  the  Jolly’s  lips  when  Poll  of  Portsea  took  him  for  a tailor  ! 
{laughs.) 

Admiral  {laughing  also).  You  have  described  it  well,  William,  and 
I thank  you.  But  who  are  these? 

Enter  Supers  in  calico  jackets  to  look  like  cloth,  some  in 
brown  hollajtd petticoat-trousers  and  big  boots,  all  with 
very  large  buckles.  Last  Super  rolls  on  a cask,  and 
pretends  to  keep  it.  Other  Supers  apply  their  mugs  to 
the  bunghole  and  drink,  previously  holding  them  upside 
down. 

Willia7n  {after  shaking  hands  ivith  everybody).  Who  are  these, 
your  honour  ! Messmates  as  staunch  and  true  as  ever  broke  biscuit. 
Ain’t  you,  my  lads  ? 

I 


134 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


AIL  Aye,  aye,  William.  That  we  are  ! that  we  are  ! 

Admiral  {inuch  affected).  Oh,  England,  what  wonder  that 1 

But  I will  no  longer  detain  you  from  your  sports,  my  humble  friends 
(Admiral  speaks  very  low^  aitd  looks  hcLrd  at  the  orchestra.,  this  being 
the  cue  for  the  dance) — from  your  sports,  my  humble  friends.  Fare- 
well ! 

All.  Hurrah  ! hurrah  ! \Exit  Admiral. 

Voice  behind.  Suppose  the  dance,  Mr.  Stanfield.  Are  you  all 
ready  ? Go  then  ! 

My  dear  Stanfield,  I wish  you  would  come  this  way  and 
see  me  in  that  Palazzo  Peschiere  ! Was  ever  man  so  wel- 
come as  I would  make  you  ! What  a truly  gentlemanly 
action  it  would  be  to  bring  Mrs.  Stanfield  and  the  baby. 
And  how  Kate  and  her  sister  would  wave  pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs from  the  wharf  in  joyful  welcome  ! Ah,  what  a 
glorious  proceeding  ! 

Do  you  know  this  place  ? Of  course  you  do.  I won't 
bore  you  with  anything  about  it,  for  I know  Forster  reads 
my  letters  to  you  ; but  what  a place  it  is.  The  views  from 
the  hills  here,  and  the  immense  variety  of  prospects  of 
the  sea,  are  as  striking,  I think,  as  such  scenery  can  be. 
Above  all,  the  approach  to  Genoa,  by  sea  from  Marseilles, 
constitutes  a picture  which  you  ought  to  paint,  for  nobody 
else  can  ever  do  it  ! William,  you  made  that  bridge  at 
Avignon  better  than  it  is.  Beautiful  as  it  undoubtedly  is, 
you  made  it  fifty  times  better.  And  if  I were  Morrison, 
or  one  of  that  school  (bless  the  dear  fellows  one  and  all), 
I wouldn’t  stand  it,  but  would  insist  on  having  another 
^picture  gratis,  to  atone  for  the  imposition. 

The  night  is  like  a seaside  night  in  England  towards  the 
end  of  September.  They  say  it  is  the  prelude  to  clear 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


135 


weather.  But  the  wind  is  roaring  now,  and  the  sea  is 
raving,  and  the  rain  is  driving  down,  as  if  they  had  all  set 
in  for  a real  hearty  picnic,  and  each  had  brought  its  own 
relations  to  the  general  festivity.  I don’t  know  whether 
you  are  acquainted  with  the  coastguard  and  men  in  these 
parts  ? They  are  extremely  civil  fellows,  of  a very  amiable 
manner  and  appearance,  but  the  most  innocent  men  in 
matters  you  would  suppose  them  to  be  well  acquainted 
with,  in  virtue  of  their  office,  that  I ever  encountered. 
One  of  them  asked  me  only  yesterday,  if  it  would  take  a 
year  to  get  to  England  in  a ship  ? Which  I thought  for 
a coastguard-man  was  rather  a tidy  question.  It  would 
take  a long  time  to  catch  a ship  going  there  if  he  were  on 
board  a pursuing  cutter  though.  I think  he  would  scarcely 
do  it  in  twelve  months,  indeed. 

So  you  were  at  Astley’s  t’other  night.  Now,  Mr. 
Stickney,  sir,  what  can  I come  for  to  go  for  to  do  for  to 
bring  for  to  fetch  for  to  carry  for  you,  sir  ? ” He,  he, 
he  ! Oh,  I say,  sir  ! ” Well,  sir  ? ” Miss  Woolford 
knows  me,  sir.  She  laughed  at  me  ! ” I see  him  run 
away  after  this  ; not  on  his  feet,  but  on  his  knees  and 
the  calves  of  his  legs  alternately  ; and  that  smell  of  saw- 
dusty  horses,  which  was  never  in  any  other  place  in  the 
world,  salutes  my  nose  with  painful  distinctness.  What 
do  you  think  of  my  suddenly  finding  myself  a swimmer? 
But  I have  really  made  the  discovery,  and  skim  about  a 
little  blue  bay  just  below  the  town  here,  like  a fish  in  high^ 
spirits.  I hope  to  preserve  my  bathing-dress  for  your  in- 
spection and  approval,  or  possibly  to  enrich  your  collec- 


136 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


tion  of  Italian  costumes  on  my  return.  Do  you  recollect 
Yarnold  in  Masaniello  ? I fear  that  I,  unintentionally, 
dress  at  him,’'  before  plunging  into  the  sea.  I enhanced 
the  likeness  very  much,  last  Friday  morning,  by  singing  a 
barcarole  on  the  rocks.  I was  a trifle  too  fresh-coloured 
(the  stage  knowing  no  medium  between  bright  salmon  and 
dirty  yellow),  but  apart  from  that  defect,  not  badly  made 
up  by  any  means.  When  you  write  to  me,  my  dear  Stanny, 
as  I hope  you  will  soon,  address  Poste  Restante,  Genoa. 
I remain  out  here  until  the  end  of  September,  and  send  in 
for  my  letters  daily.  , There  is  a postman  for  this  place, 
but  he  gets  drunk  and  loses  the  letters  ; after  which  he 
calls  to  say  so,  and  to  fall  upon  his  knees.  About  three 
weeks  ago  I caught  him  at  a wineshop  near  here  playing 
bowls  in  the  garden.  It  was  then  about  five  o’clock  in 
the  afternoon,  and  he  had  been  airing  a newspaper  ad- 
dressed to  me,  since  nine  o’clock  in  the  morning. 

Kate  and  Georgina  unite  with  me  in  most  cordial  re- 
membrances to  Mrs.  and  Miss  Stanfield,  and  to  all  the 
children.  They  particularise  all  sorts  of  messages,  but  I 
tell  them  that  they  had  better  write  themselves  if  they 
want  to  send  any.  Though  I don’t  know  that  this  writ- 
ing would  end  in  the  safe  deliverance  of  the  commodities 
after  all  ; for  when  I began  this  letter,  I meant  to  give 
utterance  to  all  kinds  of  heartiness,  my  dear  Stanfield  ; 
and  I come  to  the  end  of  it  without  having  said  anything 
more  than  that  I am — which  is  new  to  you — under  every 
circumstance  and  everywhere. 

Your  most  affectionate  Friend. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


\17 


\To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready^ 

Palazzo  Peschiere,  Genoa,  October  14//^,  1844. 

My  very  dear  Macready, 

My  whole  heart  is  with  you  at  home.  I have  not  yet 
felt  so  far  off  as  I do  now,  when  I think  of  you  there,  and 
cannot  fold  you  in  my  arms.  This  is  only  a shake  of  the 
hand.  I couldn't  say  much  to  you,  if  I were  home  to 
greet  you.  Nor  can  I write  much,  when  I think  of  you, 
safe  and  sound  and  happy,  after  all  your  wanderings. 

My  dear  fellow,  God  bless  you  twenty  thousand  times. 
Happiness  and  joy  be  with  you  ! I hope  to  see  you  soon. 
If  I should  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  miss  you  in  London,  I 
will  fall  upon  you,  with  a swoop  of  love,  in  Paris.  Kate 
says  all  kind  things  in  the  language  ; and  means  more 
than  are  in  the  dictionary  capacity  of  all  the  descendants 
of  all  the  stonemasons  that  worked  at  Babel.  Again  and 
again  and  again,  my  own  true  friend,  God  bless  you  ! 

Ever  yours  affectionately. 

[ To  Mr.  Douglas  J err oldl\ 

Cremona,  Saturday  Night,,  October  16th,  1844. 
My  dear  Jerrold, 

As  half  a loaf  is  better  than  no  breads  so  I hope  that 
half  a sheet  of  paper  may  be  better  than  none  at  all,  com- 
ing from  one  who  is  anxious  to  live  in  your  memory  and 
friendship.  I should  have  redeemed  the  pledge  I gave 
you  in  this  regard  long  since,  but  occupation  at  one  time. 


138  LETTERS  OF  CIIAJ^LES  DICICENS. 

and  absence  from  pen  and  ink  at  another,  have  prevented 
me. 

Forster  has  told  you,  or  will  tell  you,  that  I very  much 
wish  you  to  hear  my  little  Christmas  book  ; and  I hope 
you  will  meet  me,  at  his  bidding,  at  Lincoln’s  Inn  Fields. 
I have  tried  to  strike  a blow  upon  that  part  of  the  brass 
countenance  of  wicked  Cant,  when  such  a compliment  is 
sorely  needed  at  this  time,  and  I trust  that  the  result  of 
my  training  is  at  least  the  exhibition  of  a strong  desire  to 
make  it  a staggerer.  If  you  should  think  at  the  end  of  the 
four  rounds  (there  are  no  more)  that  the  said  Cant,  in  the 
language  of  Bell's  Life^  comes  up  piping,”  I shall  be 
very  much  the  better  for  it. 

I am  now  on  my  way  to  Milan  ; and  from  thence  (after 
a day  or  two’s  rest)  I mean  to  come  to  England  by  the 
grandest  Alpine  pass  that  the  snow  may  leave  open.  You 
know  this  place  as  famous  of  yore  for  fiddles.  I don’t 
see  any  here  now.  But  there  is  a whole  street  of  cop- 
persmiths not  far  from  this  inn  ; and  they  throb  so 

d ably  and  fitfully,  that  I thought  I had  a palpitation 

of  the  heart  after  dinner  just  now,  and  seldom  was  more 
relieved  than  when  I found  the  noise  to  be  none  of  mine. 

I was  rather  shocked  yesterday  (I  am  not  strong  in  geo- 
graphical details)  to  find  that  Romeo  was  only  banished 
twenty-five  miles.  That  is  the  distance  between  Mantua 
and  Verona.  The  latter  is  a quaint  old  place,  with  great 
houses  in  it  that  are  now  solitary  and  shut  up — exactly  the 
place  it  ought  to  be.  The  former  has  a great  many  apothe- 
caries in  it  at  this  moment,  who  could  play  that  part  to  the 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


139 


life.  For  of  all  the  stagnant  ponds  I ever  beheld,  it  is  the 
greenest  and  weediest.  I went  to  see  the  old  palace  of  the 
Capulets,  which  is  still  distinguished  by  their  cognizance 
(a  hat  carved  in  stone  on  the  courtyard  wall).  It  is  a 
miserable  inn.  The  court  was  full  of  crazy  coaches,  carts, 
geese,  and  pigs,  and  was  ankle-deep  in  mud  and  dung. 
The  garden  is  walled  off  and  built  out.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  connect  it  with  its  old  inhabitants,  and  a very  un- 
sentimental lady  at  the  kitchen  door.  The  Montagues 
used  to  live  some  two  or  three  miles  off  in  the  country. 
It  does  not  appear  quite  clear  whether  they  ever  inhabited 
Verona  itself.  But  there  is  a village  bearing  their  name 
to  this  day,  and  traditions  of  the  quarrels  between  the  two 
families  are  still  as  nearly  alive  as  anything  can  be,  in  such 
a drowsy  neighbourhood. 

It  was  very  hearty  and  good  of  you,  Jerrold,  to  make 
that  affectionate  mention  of  the  Carol  ” in  Punch.,  and  I 
assure  you  it  was  not  lost  on  the  distant  object  of  your 
manly  regard,  but  touched  him  as  you  wished  and  meant 
it  should.  I wish  we  had  not  lost  so  much  time  in  im- 
proving our  personal  knowledge  of  each  other.  But  I 
have  so  steadily  read  you,  and  so  selfishly  gratified  myself 
in  always  expressing  the  admiration  with  which  your  gal- 
lant truths  inspired  me,  that  I must  not  call  it  time  lost, 
either. 

You  rather  entertained  a notion,  once,  of  coming  to 
see  me  at  Genoa.  I shall  return  straight,  on  the  9th  of 
December,  limiting  my  stay  in  town  to  one  week.  Now 
couldn’t  you  come  back  with  me  ? The  journey,  that  way. 


140 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


is  very  cheap,  costing  little  more  than  twelve  pounds ; and 
I am  sure  the  gratification  to  you  would  be  high.  I am 
lodged  in  quite  a wonderful  place,  and  would  put  you  in 
a painted  room,  as  big  as  a church  and  much  more  com- 
fortable. There  are  pens  and  ink  upon  the  premises  ; 
orange  trees,  gardens,  battledores  and  shuttlecocks,  rous- 
ing wood-fires  for  evenings,  and  a welcome  worth  having. 

Come  ! Letter  from  a gentleman  in  Italy  to  Bradbury 
and  Evans  in  London.  Letter  from  a gentleman  in  a 
country  gone  to  sleep  to  a gentleman  in  a country  that 
would  go  to  sleep  too,  and  never  wake  again,  if  some  peo- 
ple had  their  way.  You  can  work  in  Genoa.  The  house 
is  used  to  it.  It  is  exactly  a week’s  post.  Have  that  port- 
manteau looked  to,  and  when  we  meet,  say,  I am  com- 
ing.” 

I have  never  in  my  life  been  so  struck  by  any  place  as 
by  Venice.  It  is  the  wonder  of  the  world.  Dreamy,  beau- 
tiful, inconsistent,  impossible,  wicked,  shadowy,  d able 

old  place.  I entered  it  by  night,  and  the  sensation  of  that 
night  and  the  bright  morning  that  followed  is  a part  of  me 
for  the  rest  of  my  existence.  And,  oh  God  ! the  cells  be- 
low the  water,  underneath  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  ; the  nook 
where  the  monk  came  at  midnight  to  confess  the  political 
offender  ; the  bench  where  he  was  strangled  ; the  deadly 
little  vault  in  which  they  tied  him  in  a sack,  and  the 
stealthy  crouching  little  door  through  which  they  hurried 
him  into  a boat,  and  bore  him  away  to  sink  him  where  no 
fisherman  dare  cast  his  net — all  shown  by  torches  that 
blink  and  wink,  as  if  they  were  ashamed  to  look  upon  the 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  L) /CHENS.  I4I 

gloomy  theatre  of  sad  horrors  ; past  and  gone  as  they  are, 
these  things  stir  a man’s  blood,  like  a great  wrong  or  pas- 
sion of  the  instant.  And  with  these  in  their  minds,  and 
with  a museum  there,  having  a chamber  full  of  such 
frightful  instruments  of  torture  as  the  devil  in  a brain 
fever  could  scarcely  invent,  there  are  hundreds  of  parrots, 
who  will  declaim  to  you  in  speech  and  print,  by  the  hour 
together,  on  the  degeneracy  of  the  times  in  which  a rail- 
road is  building  across  the  water  at  Venice  ; instead  of 
going  down  on  their  knees,  the  drivellers,  and  thanking 
Heaven  that  they  live  in  a time  when  iron  makes  roads, 
instead  of  prison  bars  and  engines  for  driving  screws  into 
the  skulls  of  innocent  men.  Before  God,  I could  almost 
turn  bloody-minded,  and  shoot  the  parrots  of  our  island 
with  as  little  compunction  as  Robinson  Crusoe  shot  the 
parrots  in  his. 

I have  not  been  in  bed,  these  ten  days,  after  five  in  the 
morning,  and  have  been  travelling  many  hours  every  day. 
If  this  be  the  cause  of  my  inflicting  a very  stupid  and 
sleepy  letter  on  you,  my  dear  Jerrold,  I hope  it  will  be  a 
kind  of  signal  at  the  same  time,  of  my  wish  to  hail  you 
lovingly  even  from  this  sleepy  and  unpromising  state.  And 
believe  me  as  I am. 

Always  your  Friend  and  Admirer. 

[7h  J/r.  Thomas  Mitton?[ 

Peschiere,  Genoa,  Tuesday,  Nov.  ^th,  1844. 
My  dear  Mitton, 

The  cause  of  my  not  having  written  to  you  is  too  obvi- 


142 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


ous  to  need  any  explanation.  I have  worn  myself  to  death 
in  the  month  I have  been  at  work.  None  of  my  usual  re- 
liefs have  been  at  hand  ; I have  not  been  able  to  divest 
myself  of  the  story — have  suffered  very  much  in  my  sleep 
in  consequence — and  am  so  shaken  by  such  work  in  this 
trying  climate,  that  I am  as  nervous  as  a man  who  is  dying 
of  drink,  and  as  haggard  as  a murderer. 

I believe  I have  written  a tremendous  book,  and 
knocked  the  Carol  ’’  out  of  the  field.  It  will  make  a 
great  uproar,  I have  no  doubt. 

I leave  here  to-morrow  for  Venice  and  many  other 
places  ; and  I shall  certainly  come  to  London  to  see  my 
proofs,  coming  by  new  ground  all  the  way,  cutting  through 
the  snow  in  the  valleys  of  Switzerland,  and  plunging 
through  the  mountains  in  the  dead  of  winter.  I would 
accept  your  hearty  offer  with  right  goodwill,  but  my  visit 
being  one  of  business  and  consultation,  I see  impediments 
in  the  way,  and  insurmountable  reasons  for  not  doing  so. 
Therefore,  I shall  go  to  an  hotel  in  Covent  Garden,  where 
they  know  me  very  well,  and  with  the  landlord  of  which 
I have  already  communicated.  My  orders  are  not  upon 
a mighty  scale,  extending  no  further  than  a good  bed- 
room and  a cold  shower-bath. 

Bradbury  and  Evans  are  going  at  it,  ding-dong,  and  are 
wild  with  excitement.  All  news  on  that  subject  (and  on 
every  other)  I must  defer  till  I see  you.  That  will  be  im- 
mediately after  I arrive,  of  course.  Most  likely  on  Mon- 
day, 2nd  December. 

Kate  and  her  sister  (who  send  their  best  regards)  and  all 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


143 


the  children  are  as  well  as  possible.  The  house  is  perfect; 
the  servants  are  as  quiet  and  well-behaved  as  at  home, 
which  very  rarely  happens  here,  and  Roche  is  my  right 
hand.  There  never  was  such  a fellow. 

We  have  now  got  carpets  down — burn  fires  at  night — 
draw  the  curtains,  and  are  quite  wintry.  We  have  a box  at 
the  opera,  which  is  close  by  (for  nothing),  and  sit  there 
when  we  please,  as  in  our  own  drawing-room.  There  have 
been  three  fine  days  in  four  weeks.  On  every  other  the 
water  has  been  falling  down  in  one  continual  sheet,  and  it 
has  been  thundering  and  lightening  every  day  and  night. 

My  hand  shakes  in  that  feverish  and  horrible  manner 
that  I can  hardly  hold  a pen.  And  I have  so  bad  a cold 
that  I can’t  see. 

In  haste  to  save  the  post, 

Ever  faithfully. 

P.S. — Charley  has  a writing-master  every  day,  and  a 
French  master.  He  and  his  sisters  are  to  be  waited  on 
by  a professor  of  the  noble  art  of  dancing,  next  week. 

[7b  Mrs,  Charles  Dickens 

Parma,  Albergo  della  Posta,  Friday,  Nov.  %th,  1844. 
My  dearest  Kate, 

‘‘  If  missis  could  see  us  to-night,  what  would  she  say  ? ” 
That  was  the  brave  C.’s  remark  last  night  at  midnight, 
and  he  had  reason.  We  left  Genoa,  as  you  know,  soon 
after  five  on  the  evening  of  my  departure  ; and  in  com- 
pany with  the  lady  whom  you  saw,  and  the  dog  whom  I 


144 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


don’t  think  you  did  see,  travelled  all  night  at  the  rate  of 
four  miles  an  hour  over  bad  roads,  without  the  least  refresh- 
ment until  daybreak,  when  the  brave  and  myself  escaped 
into  a miserable  caffe  while  they  were  changing  horses,  and 
got  a cup  of  that  drink  hot.  That  same  day,  a few  hours 
afterwards,  between  ten  and  eleven,  we  came  to  (I  hope) 

the  d dest  inn  in  the  world,  where,  in  a vast  chamber, 

rendered  still  more  desolate  by  the  presence  of  a most  offen- 
sive specimen  of  what  D’Israeli  calls  the  Mosaic  Arab  (who 
had  a beautiful  girl  with  him),  I regaled  upon  a breakfast, 
almost  as  cold,  and  damp,  and  cheerless,  as  myself.  Then, 
in  another  coach,  much  smaller  than  a small  Fly,  I was 
packed  up  with  an  old  padre,  a young  Jesuit,  a provincial 
avvocato,  a private  gentleman  with  a very  red  nose  and  a 
very  wet  brown  umbrella,  and  the  brave  C.  and  I went  on 
again  at  the  same  pace  through  the  mud  and  rain  until  four 
in  the  afternoon,  when  there  was  a place  in  the  coupe  (two 
indeed),  which  I took,  holding  that  select  compartment 
in  company  with  a very  ugly  but  very  agreeable  Tuscan 
‘^gent,”  who  said  gia''  instead  of  si and  rung  some 
other  changes  in  this  changing  language,  but  with  whom  I 
got  on  very  well,  being  extremely  conversational.  We  were 
bound,  as  you  know  perhaps,  for  Piacenza,  but  it  was  dis- 
covered that  we  couldn’t  get  to  Piacenza,  and  about  ten 
o’clock  at  night  we  halted  at  a place  called  Stradella,  where 
the  inn  was  a series  of  queer  galleries  open  to  the  night, 
with  a great  courtyard  full  of  wagons  and  horses,  and 
velociferi^''  and  what  not  in  the  centre.  It  was  bitter  cold 
and  very  wet,  and  we  all  walked  into  a bare  room  (mine  !) 

7 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


145 


with  two  immensely  broad  beds  on  two  deal  dining-tables, 
a third  great  empty  table,  the  usual  washing-stand  tripod, 
with  a slop-basin  on  it,  and  two  chairs.  And  then  we 
walked  up  and  down  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  or  so, 
while  dinner,  or  supper,  or  whatever  it  was,  was  getting 
ready.  This  was  set  forth  (by  way  of  variety)  in  the  old 
priest’s  bedroom,  which  had  two  more  immensely  broad 
beds  on  two  more  deal  dining-tables  in  it.  The  first  dish 
was  a cabbage  boiled  in  a great  quantity  of  rice  and  hot 
water,  the  whole  flavoured  with  cheese.  I was  so  cold  that 
I thought  it  comfortable,  and  so  hungry  that  a bit  of  cab- 
bage, when  I found  such  a thing  floating  my  way,  charmed 
me.  After  that  we  had  a dish  of  very  little  pieces  of  pork, 
fried  with  pigs’  kidneys  ; after  that  a fowl  ; after  that  some- 
thing very  red  and  stringy,  which  I think  was  veal  ; and 
after  that  two  tiny  little  new-born-baby-looking  turkeys, 
very  red  and  very  swollen.  Fruit,  of  course,  to  wind  up, 
and  garlic  in  one  shape  or  another  in  every  course.  I made 
three  jokes  at  supper  (to  the  immense  delight  of  the  com- 
pany), and  retired  early.  The  brave  brought  in  a bush  or 
two  and  made  a fire,  and  after  that  a glass  of  screeching 
hot  brandy  and  water;  that  bottle  of  his  being  full  of 
brandy.  I drank  it  at  my  leisure,  undressed  before  the 
fire,  and  went  into  one  of  the  beds.  The  brave  reappeared 
about  an  hour  afterwards  and  went  into  the  other  ; pre- 
viously tying  a pocket-handkerchief  round  and  round  his 
head  in  a strange  fashion,  and  giving  utterance  to  the 
sentiment  with  which  this  letter  begins.  At  five  this  morn- 
ing we  resumed  our  journey,  still  through  mud  and  rain, 


146 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


and  at  about  eleven  arrive^  at  Piacenza  ; where  we  fellow- 
passengers  took  leave  of  one  another  in  the  most  affection- 
ate manner.  As  there  was  no  coach  on  till  six  at  night, 
and  as  it  was  a very  grim,  despondent  sort  of  place,  and 
as  I had  had  enough  of  diligences  for  one  while,  I posted 
forward  here  in  the  strangest  carriages  ever  beheld,  which 
we  changed  when  we  changed  horses.  We  arrived  here 
before  six.  The  hotel  is  quite  French.  I have  dined  very 
well  in  my  own  room  on  the  second  floor ; and  it  has  two 
beds  in  it,  screened  off  from  the  room  by  drapery.  I only 
use  one  to-night,  and  that  is  already  made. 

I purpose  posting  on  to  Bologna,  if  I can  arrange  it,  at 
twelve  to-morow  ; seeing  the  sights  here  first. 

It  is  dull  work  this  travelling  alone.  My  only  comfort 
is  in  motion.  I look  forward  with  a sort  of  shudder  to 
Sunday,  when  I shall  have  a day  to  myself  in  Bologna ; 
and  I think  I must  deliver  my  letters  in  Venice  in  sheer 
desperation.  Never  did  anybody  want  a companion  after 
dinner  so  much  as  I do. 

There  has  been  music  on  the  landing  outside  my  door 
to-night.  Two  violins  and  a violoncello.  One  of  the  violins 
played  a solo,  and  the  others  struck  in  as  an  orchestra  does 
now  and  then,  very  well.  Then  he  came  in  with  a small 
tin  platter.  Bella  musica,”  said  I.  Bellissima  musica, 
signore.  Mi  piace  moltissimo.  Sono  felice,  signore,'’  said 
he.  I gave  him  a franc.  O moltissimo  generoso.  Tanto 
generoso  signore  ! " 

It  was  a joke  to  laugh  at  when  I was  learning,  but  I 
swear  unless  I could  stagger  on,  Zoppa-wise,  with  the  peo- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


147 


pie,  I verily  believe  I should  have  turned  back  this  morn- 
ing. 

In  all  other  respects  I think  the  entire  change  has  done 
me  undoubted  service  already.  I am  free  of  the  book, 
and  red-faced  ; and  feel 'marvellously  disposed  to  sleep. 

So  for  all  the  straggling  qualities  of  this  straggling  letter, 
want  of  sleep  must  be  responsible.  Give  my  best  love  to 
Georgy,  and  my  paternal  blessing  to 
Mamey, 

Katey, 

Charley, 

Wally, 

and 

' Chickenstalker. 

P.S. — Get  things  in  their  places.  I can’t  bear  to  picture 
them  otherwise. 

P.P.S. — I think  I saw  Roche  sleeping  with  his  head  on 
the  lady’s  shoulder,  in  the  coach.  I couldn’t  swear  it,  and 
the  light  was  deceptive.  But  I think  I did. 

Alla  sign^ 

Sign^  Dickens. 

Palazzo  Peschiere,  Genova. 

{.To  Mrs.  Charles  Dickens^ 

Fribourg,  Saturday  Nighty  Noveinber  1844. 
My  dearest  Kate, 

For  the  first  time  since  I left  you  I am  sitting  in  a room 
of  my  own  hiring  with  a fire  and  a bed  in  it.  And  I am 


148 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCJCENS. 


happy  to  say  that  I have  the  best  and  fullest  intentions  of 
sleeping  in  the  bed,  having  arrived  here  at  half-past  four 
this  afternoon,  without  any  cessation  of  travelling,  night  or 
day,  since  I parted  from  Mr.  Bairr’s  cheap  firewood. 

The  Alps  appeared  in  sight  very  soon  after  we  left  Milan 
■ — by  eight  or  nine  o’clock  in  the  morning  ; and  the  brave 
C.  was  so  far  wrong  in  his  calculations  that  we  began  the 
ascent  of  the  Simplon  that  same  night,  while  you  were 
travelling  (as  I wish  I were)  towards  the  Peschiere.  Most 
favourable  state  of  circumstances  for  journeying  up  that 
tremendous  pass  ! The  brightest  moon  I ever  saw,  all 
night,  and  daybreak  on  the  summit.  The  glory  of  which, 
making  great  wastes  of  snow  a rosy  red,  exceeds  all  tell- 
ing. We  sledged  through  the  snow  on  the  summit  for 
two  hours  or  so.  The  weather  was . perfectly  fair  and 
bright,  and  there  was  neither  difficulty  nor  danger — except 
the  danger  that  there  always  must  be,  in  such  a place,  of 
a horse  stumbling  on  the  brink  of  an  immeasurable  preci- 
pice. In  which  case  no  piece  of  the  unfortunate  traveller 
would  be  left  large  enough  to  tell  his  story  in  dumb  show. 
You  may  imagine  something  of  the  ragged  grandeur  of  such 
a scene  as  this  great  passage  of  these  great  mountains,  and 
indeed  Glencoe,  well  sprinkled  with  snow,  would  be  very 
like  the  ascent.  But  the  top  itself,  so  wild,  and  bleak,  and 
lonely,  is  a thing  by  itself,  and  not  to  be  likened  to  any 
other  sight.  The  cold  was  piercing  ; the  north  wind  high 
and  boisterous  ; and  when  it  came  driving  in  our  faces, 
bringing  a sharp  shower  of  little  points  of  snow  and  pierc- 
ing it  into  our  very  blood,  it  really  was,  what  it  is  often 


LETTERS  OE  C/7  ARLES  DICKENS. 


149 


said  to  be,  cutting  ’’ — with  a very  sharp  edge  too.  There 
are  houses  of  refuge  here — bleak,  solitary  places — for  trav- 
ellers overtaken  by  the  snow  to  hurry  to,  as  an  escape  from 
death  ; and  one  great  house,  called  the  Hospital,  kept  by 
monks,  where  wayfarers  get  supper  and  bed  for  nothing. 
We  saw  some  coming  out  and  pursuing  their  journey.  If 
all  monks  devoted  themselves  to  such  uses  I should  have 
little  fault  to  find  with  them. 

The  cold  in  Switzerland,  since,  has  been  something 
quite  indescribable.  My  eyes  are  tingling  to-night  as  one 
may  suppose  cymbals  to  tingle  when  they  have  been  lustily 
played.  It  is  positive  pain  to  me  to  write.  The  great  or- 
gan which  I was  to  have  had  pleasure  in  hearing  ” don’t 
play  on  a Sunday,  at  which  the  brave  is  inconsolable.  But 
the  town  is  picturesque  and  quaint,  and  worth  seeing.  And 
this  inn  (with  a German  bedstead  in  it  about  the  size  and 
shape  of  a baby’s  linen-basket)  is  perfectly  clean  and  com- 
fortable. Butter  is  so  cheap  hereabouts  that  they  bring 
you  a great  mass  like  the  squab  of  a sofa  for  tea.  And  of 
honey,  which  is  most  delicious,  they  set  before  you  a pro- 
portionate allowance.  We  start  to-morrow  morning  at  six 
for  Strasburg,  and  from  that  town,  or  the  next  halting- 
place  on  the  Rhine,  I will  report  progress,  if  it  be  only  in 
half-a-dozen  words. 

I am  anxious  to  hear  that  you  reached  Genoa  quite 
comfortably,  and  shall  look  forward  with  impatience  to 
that  letter  which  you  are  to  indite  with  so  much  care  and 
pains  next  Monday.  My  best  love  to  Georgy,  and  to 
Charley,  and  Mamey,  and  Katey,  and  Wally,  and  Chick- 


ISO 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


enstalker.  I have  treated  myself  to  a new  travelling-cap  to- 
night (my  old  one  being  too  thin),  and  it  is  rather  a pro- 
digious affair  I flatter  myself. 

Swiss  towns,  and  mountains,  and  the  Lake  of  Geneva, 
and  the  famous  suspension  bridge  at  this  place,  and  a 
great  many  other  objects  (with  a very  low  thermometer 
conspicuous  among  them),  are  dancing  up  and  down  me, 
strangely.  But  I am  quite  collected  enough,  notwith- 
standing, to  have  still  a very  distinct  idea  that  this  horn- 
pipe travelling  is  uncomfortable,  and  that  I would  gladly 
start  for  my  palazzo  out  of  hand  without  any  previous 
rest,  stupid  as  I am  and  much  as  I want  it. 

Ever,  my  dear  love. 

Affectionately  yours. 

P.S. — I hope  the  dancing  lessons  will  be  a success. 
Don’t  fail  to  let  me  know. 

[ To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready^ 

Hotel  Bristol,  Paris,  Thursday  Night, 

Nov.  oZth,  1844,  Half -past  Ten. 

My  dearest  Macready, 

Since  I wrote  to  you  what  would  be  called  in  law  pro- 
ceedings the  exhibit  marked  A,  I have  been  round  to  the 
Hotel  Brighton,  and  personally  examined  and  cross-ex- 
amined the  attendants.  It  is  painfully  clear  to  me  that 
I shall  not  see  you  to-night,  nor  until  Tuesday,  the  loth 
of  December,  when,  please  God,  I shall  re-arrive  here,  on 
my  way  to  my  Italian  bowers.  I mean  to  stay  all  the 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


151 

Wednesday  and  all  the  Thursday  in  Paris.  One  night  to 
see  you  act  (my  old  delight  when  you  little  thought  of 
such  a being  in  existence),  and  one  night  to  read  to  you 
and  Mrs.  Macready  (if  that  scamp  of  Lincoln’s  Inn  Fields 
has  not  anticipated  me)  my  little  Christmas  book,  in  which 
I have  endeavoured  to  plant  an  indignant  right-hander  on 
the  eye  of  certain  wicked  Cant  that  makes  my  blood  boil, 
which  I hope  will  not  only  cloud  that  eye  with  black  and 
blue,  but  many  a gentle  one  with  crystal  of  the  finest  sort. 
God  forgive  me,  but  I think  there  are  good  things  in  the 
little  story  ! 

I took  it  for  granted  you  were,  as  your  American  friends 
say,  in  full  blast here,  and  meant  to  have  sent  a card 
into  your  dressing-room,  with  Mr.  G.  S.  Hancock  Mugg- 
ridge.  United  States,’'  upon  it.  But  Paris  looks  coldly  on 
me  without  your  eye  in  its  head,  and  not  being  able  to 
shake  your  hand  I shake  my  own  head  dolefully,  which  is 
but  poor  satisfaction. 

My  love  to  Mrs.  Macready.  I will  swear  to  the  death 
that  it  is  truly  hers,  for  her  gallantry  in  your  absence  if  for 
nothing  else,  and  to  you,  my  dear  Macready,  I am  ever  a 
devoted  friend. 

\_To  Mrs.  Charles  Dickens^ 

H6tel  Bristol,  Paris,  Thursday  Night,  Nov.  2^th,  1844. 
My  dearest  Kate, 

With  an  intolerable  pen  and  no  ink,  I am  going  to  write 
a few  lines  to  you  to  report  progress. 


152 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


I got  to  Strasburg  on  Monday  night,  intending  to  go 
down  the  Rhine.  But  the  weather  being  foggy,  and  the 
season  quite  over,  they  could  not  insure  me  getting  on 
for  certain  beyond  Mayence,  or  our  not  being  detained  by 
unpropitious  weather.  Therefore  I resolved  (the  malle 
poste  being  full)  to  take  the  diligence  hither  next  day  in 
the  afternoon.  I arrived  here  at  half-past  five  to-night, 
after  fifty  hours  of  it  in  a French  coach.  I was  so  beastly 
dirty  when  I got  to  this  house,  that  I had  quite  lost  all 
sense  of  my  identity,  and  if  anybody  had  said,  Are  you 
Charles  Dickens  ? ’'  I should  have  unblushingly  answered, 

No  ; I never  heard  of  him.”  A good  wash,  and  a good 
dress,  and  a good  dinner  have  revived  me,  however  ; and  I 
can  report  of  this  house,  concerning  which  the  brave  was 
so  anxious  when  we  were  here  before,  that  it  is  the  best 
I ever  was  in.  My  little  apartment,  consisting  of  three 
rooms  and  other  conveniences,  is  a perfect  curiosity  of 
completeness.  You  never  saw  such  a charming  little  baby- 
house.  It  is  infinitely  smaller  than  those  first  rooms  we 
had  at  Meurice's,  but  for  elegance,  compactness,  comfort, 
and  quietude,  exceeds  anything  I ever  met  with  at  an  inn. 

The  moment  I arrived  here,  I enquired,  of  course,  after 
Macready.  They  said  the  English  theatre  had  not  begun 
yet,  that  they  thought  he  was  at  Meurice’s,  where  they 
knew  some  members  of  the  company  to  be.  I instantly 
despatched  the  porter  with  a note  to  say  that  if  he  were 
there,  I would  come  round  and  hug  him,  as  soon  as  I was 
clean.  They  referred  the  porter  to  the  Hotel  Brighton. 
He  came  back  and  told  me  that  the  answer  there  was  : 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


153 


M.  Macready’s  rooms  were  engaged,  but  he  had  not  ar- 
rived. He  was  expected  to-night ! If  we  meet  to-night, 
I will  add  a postscript.  Wouldn’t  it  be  odd  if  we  met 
upon  the  road  between  this  and  Boulogne  to-morrow  ? 

I mean,  as  a recompense  for  my  late  sufferings,  to  get  a 
hackney-carriage  if  I can  and  post  that  journey,  starting 
from  here  at  eight  to-morrow  morning,  getting  to  Boulogne 
sufficiently  early  next  morning  to  cross  at  once,  and  din- 
ing with  Forster  that  same  day — to  wit,  Saturday.  I have 
notions  of  taking  you  with  me  on  my  next  journey  (if  you 
would  like  to  go),  and  arranging  for  Georgy  to  come  to  us 
by  steamer — under  the  protection  of  the  English  captain, 
for  instance — to  Naples  ; there  I would  top  and  cap  all 
our  walks  by  taking  her  up  to  the  crater  of  Vesuvius  with 
me.  But  this  is  dependent  on  her  ability  to  be  perfectly 
happy  for  a fortnight  or  so  in  our  stately  palace  with  the 
children,  and  such  foreign  aid  as  the  Simpsons.  For  I 
love  her  too  dearly  to  think  of  any  project  which  would 
involve  her  being  uncomfortable  for  that  space  of  time. 

You  can  think  this  over,  and  talk  it  over  ; and  I will 
join  you  in  doing  so,  please  God,  when  I return  to  our 
Italian  bowers,  which  I shall  be  heartily  glad  to  do. 

They  tell  us  that  the  landlord  of  this  house,  going  to 
London  some  week  or  so  ago,  was  detained  at  Boulogne 
two  days  by  a high  sea,  in  which  the  packet  could  not  put 
out.  So  I hope  there  is  the  greater  chance  of  no  such 
bedevilment  happening  to  me. 

Paris  is  better  than  ever.  Oh  dear,  how  grand  it  was 
when  I came  through  it  in  that  caravan  to-night  ! I hope 

7* 


154 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


we  shall  be  very  hearty  here,  and  able  to  say  with  Wally, 
Han't  it  plassant ! " 

Love  to  Charley,  Mamey,  Katey,  Wally,  and  Chicken- 
stalker.  The  last-named,  I take  it  for  granted,  is  indeed 
prodigious. 

Best  love  to  Georgy. 

Ever,  my  dearest  Kate, 

Affectionately  yours. 

P.S. — I have  been  round  to  Macready's  hotel  ; it  is 
now  past  ten,  and  he  has  not  arrived,  nor  does  it  seem  at 
all  certain  that  he  seriously  intended  to  arrive  to-night. 
So  I shall  not  see  him,  I take  it  for  granted,  until  my  re- 
turn. 

[ To  Mrs,  Charles  JDickensl\ 

Piazza  Coffee  House,  Co  vent  Garden, 

Monday^  Dec,  1844. 

My  dearest  Kate, 

I received,  with  great  delight,  your  excellent  letter  of 
this  morning.  Do  not  regard  this  as  my  answer  to  it.  It 
is  merely  to  say  that  I have  been  at  Bradbury  and  Evans's 
all  day,  and  have  barely  time  to  write  more  than  that  I 
will  write  to-morrow.  I arrived  about  seven  on  Saturday 
evening,  and  rushed  into  the  arms  of  Mac  and  Forster. 
Both  of  them  send  their  best  love  to  you  and  Georgy, 
with  a heartiness  not  to  be  described. 

The  little  book  is  now,  as  far  as  I am  concerned,  all 
ready.  One  cut  of  Doyle's  and  one  of  Leech's  I found  so 
unlike  my  ideas,  that  I had  them  both  to  breakfast  with 
me  this  morning,  and  with  that  winning  manner  which  you 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


155 


know  of,  got  them  with  the  highest  good  humour  to  do 
both  afresh.  They  are  now  hard  at  it.  Stanfield’s  readi- 
ness, delight,  wonder  at  my  being  pleased  with  what  he 
has  done  is  delicious.  Mac’s  frontispiece  is  charming. 
The  book  is  quite  splendid ; the  expenses  will  be  very 
great,  I have  no  doubt 

Anybody  who  has  heard  it  has  been  moved  in  the  most 
extraordinary  manner,  Forster  read  it  (for  dramatic  pur- 
poses) to  A’Beckett  He  cried  so  much  and  so  painfully, 
that  Forster  didn’t  know  whether  to  go  on  or  stop  ; and 
he  called  next  day  to  say  that  any  expression  of  his  feeling 
was  beyond  his  power.  But  that  he  believed  it,  and  felt 
it  to  be — I won’t  say  what. 

As  the  reading  comes  off  to-morrow  night,  I had  better 
not  despatch  my  letters  to  you  until  Wednesday's  post.  I 
must  close  to  save  this  (heartily  tired  I am,  and  I dine 
at  Gore  House  to-day),  so  with  love  to  Georgy,  Mamey, 
Katey,  Charley,  Wally,  and  Chickenstalker,  ever,  believe 
me,  Yours,  with  true  affection. 

P.S. — If  you  had  seen  Macready  last  night,  undisguis- 
edly  sobbing  and  crying  on  the  sofa  as  I read,  you  would 
have  felt,  as  I did,  what  a thing  it  is  to  have  power. 

1845. 

NARRATIVE. 

At  the  beginning  of  this  year,  Charles  Dickens  was  still 
living  at  the  Palazzo  Peschiere,  Genoa,  with  his  family. 
In  February,  he  went  with  his  wife  to  Rome  for  the  Car- 
nival, leaving  his  sister-in-law  and  children  at  Genoa  ; 


156 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


Miss  Hogarth  joining  them  later  on  at  Naples.  They  all 
returned  to  Rome  for  the  Holy  Week,  and  then  went  to 
Florence,  and  so  back  to  Genoa.  He  continued  his  resi- 
dence at  Genoa  until  June  of  this  year,  when  he  returned 
to  England  by  Switzerland  and  Belgium,  the  party  being 
met  at  Brussels  by  Mr.  Forster,  Mr.  Maclise,  and  Mr. 
Douglas  Jerrold,  and  arriving  at  home  at  the  end  of  June. 
The  autumn  months,  until  the  ist  October,  were  again 
spent  at  Broadstairs.  And  in  this  September  was  the  first 
amateur  play  at  Miss  Kelly’s  theatre  in  Dean  Street,  under 
the  management  of  Charles  Dickens,  with  Messrs.  Jerrold, 
Mark  Lemon,  John  Leech,  Gilbert  A’Beckett,  Leigh, 
Frank  Stone,  Forster,  and  others  as  his  fellow-actors. 
The  play  selected  was  Ben  Jonson’s  Every  Man  in  his 
Humour,”  in  which  Charles  Dickens  acted  Captain  Bo- 
badil.  The  first  performance  was  a private  one,  merely 
as  an  entertainment  for  the  actors  and  their  friends,  but 
its  success  speedily  led  to  a repetition  of  the  same  per- 
formance, and  afterwards  to  many  other  performances  for 
public  and  charitable  objects.  Every  Man  in  his  Hu- 
mour ” was  shortly  after  repeated,  at  the  same  little  theatre, 
for  a useful  charity  which  needed  help  ; and  later  in  the 
year  Beaumont  and  Fletcher’s  play  of  “ The  Elder  Brother  ” 
was  given  by  the  same  company,  at  the  same  place,  for  the 
benefit  of  Miss  Kelly.  There  was  a farce  played  after  the 
comedy  on  each  occasion — not  always  the  same  one — in 
which  Charles  Dickens  and  Mark  Lemon  were  the  prin- 
cipal actors. 

The  letters  which  we  have  for  this  year,  refer,  with  very 
few  exceptions,  to  these  theatricals,  and  therefore  need  no 
explanation. 

He  was  at  work  at  the  end  of  this  year  on  another 
Christmas  book,  The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth,”  and  was 
also  much  occupied  with  the  project  of  The  Daily  Neivs 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS. 


157 


paper,  of  which  he  undertook  the  editorship  at  its  starting, 
which  took  place  in  the  beginning  of  the  following  year, 
1846. 

[7h  Miss  Mogarih.] 

Rome,  Tuesday^  February  1845. 

My  dearest  Georgy, 

This  is  a very  short  note,  but  time  is  still  shorter.  Come 
by  the  first  boat  by  all  means.  If  there  be  a good  one  a 
day  or  two  before  it,  come  by  that.  Don't  delay  on  any 
account.  I am  very  sorry  you  are  not  here.  The  Carni- 
val is  a very  remarkable  sight.  I have  been  regretting  the 
having  left  you  at  home  all  the  way  here. 

Kate  says,  will  you  take  counsel  with  Charlotte  about 
colour  (I  put  in  my  word,  as  usual,  for  brightness),  and 
have  the  darlings’  bonnets  made  at  once,  by  the  same  art- 
ist as  before  ? Kate  would  have  written,  but  is  gone  with 
Black  to  a day  performance  at  the  opera,  to  see  Cerito 
dance.  At  two  o’clock  each  day  we  sally  forth  in  an  open 
carriage,  with  a large  sack  of  sugar-plums  and  at  least  five 
hundred  little  nosegays  to  pelt  people  with.  I should  think 
we  threw  away,  yesterday,  a thousand  of  the  latter.  We 
had  the  carriage  filled  with  flowers  three  or  four  times.  I 
wish  you  could  have  seen  me  catch  a swell  brigand  on  the 
nose  with  a handful  of  very  large  confetti  every  time  we 
met  him.  It  was  the  best  thing  I have  ever  done.  The 
Chimes  ” are  nothing  to  it. 

Anxiously  expecting  you,  I am  ever. 

Dear  Georgy, 

Yours  most  affectionately. 


158 


LETTERS  OF  CIL ARLES  DICKENS. 


\^To  Mr.  Thomas  Mitto7i?[ 

Naples,  Monday^  February  1845. 

My  dear  Mitton, 

This  will  be  a hasty  letter,  for  I am  as  badly  off  in 
this  place  as  in  America — beset  by  visitors  at  all  times  and 
seasons,  and  forced  to  dine  out  every  day.  I have  found, 
however,  an  excellent  man  for  me — an  Englishman,  who 
has  lived  here  many  years,  and  is  well  acquainted  with 
the  people^  whom  he  doctored  in  the  bad  time  of  the 
cholera,  when  the  priests  and  everybody  else  fled  in 
terror. 

Under  his  auspices,  I have  got  to  understand  the  low 
life  of  Naples  (among  the  fishermen  and  idlers)  almost  as 
well  as  I understand  the  do.  do.  of  my  own  country  ; al- 
ways excepting  the  language,  which  is  very  peculiar  and 
extremely  difficult,  and  would  require  a year's  constant 
practice  at  least.  It  is  no  more  like  Italian  than  English 
is  to  Welsh.  And  as  they  don’t  say  half  of  what  they 
mean,  but  make  a wink  or  a kick  stand  for  a whole  sen- 
tence, it’s  a marvel  to  me  how  they  comprehend  each 
other.  At  Rome  they  speak  beautiful  Italian  (I  am  pretty 
strong  at  that,  I believe)  ; but  they  are  worse  here  than 
in  Genoa,  which  I had  previously  thought  impossible. 

It  is  a fine  place,  but  nothing  like  so  beautiful  as  people 
make  it  out  to  be.  The  famous  bay  is,  to  my  thinking,  as 
a piece  of  scenery,  immeasurably  inferior  to  the  Bay  of 
Genoa,  which  is  the  most  lovely  thing  I have  ever  seen. 
The  city,  in  like  manner,  will  bear  no  comparison  with 
Genoa.  But  there  is  none  in  Italy  that  will,  except  Venice. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


159 


As  to  houses,  there  is  no  palace  like  the  Peschiere  for 
architecture,  situation,  gardens,  or  rooms.  It  is  a great 
triumph  to  me,  too,  to  find  how  cheap  it  is.  At  Rome, 
the  English  people  live  in  dirty  little  fourth,  fifth,  and 
sixth  floors,  with  not  one  room  as  large  as  your  own  draw- 
ing-room, and  pay,  commonly,  seven  or  eight  pounds  a 
week. 

I was  a week  in  Rome  on  my  way  here,  and  saw  the  Car- 
nival, which  is  perfectly  delirious,  and  a great  scene  for 
a description.  All  the  ancient  part  of  Rome  is  wonderful 
and  impressive  in  the  extreme.  Far  beyond  the  possibility 
of  exaggeration  as  to  the  modern  part,  it  might  be  anywhere 
or  anything — Paris,  Nice,  Boulogne,  Calais,  or  one  of  a 
thousand  other  places. 

The  weather  is  so  atrocious  (rain,  snow,  wind,  darkness, 
hail,  and  cold)  that  I can’t  get  over  into  Sicily.  But  I 
don’t  care  very  much  about  it,  as  I have  planned  out  ten 
days  of  excursion  into  the  neighbouring  country.  One 
thing  of  course — the  ascent  of  Vesuvius,  Herculaneum  and 
Pompeii,  the  two  cities  which  were  covered  by  its  melted 
ashes,  and  dug  out  in  the  first  instance  accidentally,  are 
more  full  of  interest  and  wonder  than  it  is  possible  to 
imagine.  I have  heard  of  some  ancient  tombs  (quite  un- 
known to  travellers)  dug  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and 
extending  for  some  miles  underground.  They  are  near  a 
place  called  Viterbo,  on  the  way  from  Rome  to  Florence. 
I shall  lay  in  a small  stock  of  torches,  etc.,  and  explore 
them  when  I leave  Rome.  I return  there  on  the  ist  of 
March,  and  shall  stay  there  nearly  a month. 


i6o 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS. 


Saturday,  February  22nd. — Since  I left  off  as  above,  I 
have  been  away  on  an  excursion  of  three  days.  Yesterday 
evening,  at  four  o’clock,  we  began  (a  small  party  of  six)  the 
ascent  of  Mount  Vesuvius,  with  saddle-horses,  an  armed 
soldier  for  a guard,  and  twenty-two  guides.  The  latter 
rendered  necessary  by  the  severity  of  the  weather,  which 
is  greater  than  has  been  known  for  twenty  years,  and  has 
covered  the  precipitous  part  of  the  mountain  with  deep 
snow,  the  surface  of  which  is  glazed  with  one  smooth  sheet 
of  ice  from  the  top  of  the  cone  to  the  bottom.  By  start- 
ing at  that  hour  I intended  to  get  the  sunset  about  half- 
way up,  and  night  at  the  top,  where  the  fire  is  raging.  It 
was  an  inexpressibly  lovely  night  without  a cloud  ; and 
when  the  day  was  quite  gone,  the  moon  (within  a few 
hours  of  the  full)  came  proudly  up,  showing  the  sea,  and 
the  Bay  of  Naples,  and  the  whole  country,  in  such  majesty 
as  no  words  can  express.  We  rode  to  the  beginning  of  the 
snow  and  then  dismounted.  Catherine  and  Georgina  were 
put  into  two  litters,  just  chairs  with  poles,  like  those  in  use 
in  England  on  the  fifth  of  November  ; and  a fat  English- 
man, who  was  of  the  party,  was  hoisted  into  a third, 
borne  by  eight  men.  I was  accommodated  with  a tough 
stick,  and  we  began  to  plough  our  way  up.  The  ascent 
was  as  steep  as  this  line  / — very  nearly  perpendicular.  We 
were  all  tumbling  at  every  step  ; and  looking  up  and  see- 
ing the  people  in  advance  tumbling  over  one’s  very  head, 
and  looking  down  and  seeing  hundreds  of  feet  of  smooth 
ice  below,  was,  I must  confess,  anything  but  agreeable. 
However,  I knew  there  was  little  chance  of  another  clear 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCLCENS. 


l6l 


night  before  I leave  this,  and  gave  the  word  to  get  up, 
somehow  or  other.  So  on  we  went,  winding  a little  now 
and  then,  or  we  should  not  have  got  on  at  all.  By  pro- 
digious exertions  we  passed  the  region  of  snow,  and  came 
into  that  of  fire — desolate  and  awful,  you  may  well  sup- 
pose. It  was  like  working  one’s  way  through  a dry  water- 
fall, with  every  mass  of  stone  burnt  and  charred  into 
enormous  cinders,  and  smoke  and  sulphur  bursting  out  of 
every  chink  and  crevice,  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  breathe. 
High  before  us,  bursting  out  of  a hill  at  the  top  of  the 
mountain,  shaped  like  this  /\,  the  fire  was  pouring  out, 
reddening  the  night  with  flames,  blackening  it  with  smoke? 
and  spotting  it  with  red-hot  stones  and  cinders  that  fell 
down  again  in  showers.  At  every  step  everybody  fell,  now 
into  a hot  chink,  now  into  a bed  of  ashes,  now  over  a mass 
of  cindered  iron  ; and  the  confusion  in  the  darkness  (for 
the  smoke  obscured  the  moon  in  this  part),  and  the  quar- 
relling and  shouting  and  roaring  of  the  guides,  and  the 
waiting  every  now  and  then  for  somebody  who  was  not  to 
be  found,  and  was  supposed  to  have  stumbled  into  some 
pit  or  other,  made  such  a scene  of  it  as  I can  give  you  no 
idea  of.  My  ladies  were  now  on  foot,  of  course  ; but  we 
dragged  them  on  as  well  as  we  could  (they  were  thorough 
game,  and  didn’t  make  the  least  complaint),  until  we  got 
to  the  foot  of  that  topmost  hill  I have  drawn  so  beautifully. 
Here  we  all  stopped  ; but  the  head  guide,  an  English  gen- 
tleman of  the  name  of  Le  Gros — who  has  been  here  many 
years,  and  has  been  up  the  mountain  a hundred  times — 
and  your  humble  servant  resolved  (like  jackasses)  to  climb 


i62  letters  of  CHARLES  DICKENS, 

that  hill  to  the  brink,  and  look  down  into  the  crater  itself. 
You  may  form  some  notion  of  what  is  going  on  inside  it, 
when  I tell  you  that  it  is  a hundred  feet  higher  than  it  was 
six  weeks  ago.  The  sensation  of  struggling  up  it,  choked 
with  the  fire  and  smoke,  and  feeling  at  every  step  as  if  the 
crust  of  ground  between  one’s  feet  and  the  gulf  of  fire 
would  crumble  in  and  swallow  one  up  (which  is  the  real 
danger),  I shall  remember  for  some  little  time,  I think. 
But  we  did  it.  We  looked  down  into  the  flaming  bowels 
of  the  mountain  and  came  back  again,  alight  in  half-a- 
dozen  places,  and  burnt  from  head  to  foot.  You  never  saw 
such  devils.  And  I never  saw  anything  so  awful  and 
terrible. 

Roche  had  been  tearing  his  hair  like  a madman,  and 
crying  that  we  should  all  three  be  killed,  which  made  the 
rest  of  the  company  very  comfortable,  as  you  may  suppose. 
But  we  had  some  wine  in  a basket,  and  all  swallowed  a 
little  of  that  and  a great  deal  of  sulphur  before  we  began 
to  descend.  The  usual  way,  after  the  fiery  part  is  past — 
you  will  understand  that  to  be  all  the  fiat  top  of  the  moun- 
tain, in  the  centre  of  which,  again,  rises  the  little  hill  I have 
drawn — is  to  slide  down  the  ashes,  which,  slipping  from 
under  you,  make  a gradually  increasing  ledge  under  your 
feet,  and  prevent  you  going  too  fast.  But  when  we  came 
to  this  steep  place  last  night,  we  found  nothing  there  but 
one  smooth  solid  sheet  of  ice.  The  only  way  to  get  down 
was  for  the  guides  to  make  a chain,  holding  by  each  other’s 
hands,  and  beat  a narrow  track  in  it  into  the  snow  below 
with  their  sticks.  My  two  unfortunate  ladies  were  taken 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS.  1 63 

out  of  their  litters  again,  with  half-a-dozen  men  hanging  on 
to  each,  to  prevent  their  falling  forward  ; and  we  began 
to  descend  this  way.  It  was  like  a tremendous  dream.  It 
was  impossible  to  stand,  and  the  only  way  to  prevent  one- 
self from  going  sheer  down  the  precipice,  every  time  one 
fell,  was  to  drive  one’s  stick  into  one  of  the  holes  the 
guides  had  made,  and  hold  on  by  that.  Nobody  could 
pick  one  up,  or  stop  one,  or  render  one  the  least  assistance. 
Now,  conceive  my  horror,  when  this  Mr.  Le  Gros  I have 
mentioned,  being  on  one  side  of  Georgina  and  I on  the 
other,  suddenly  staggers  away  from  the  narrow  path  on  to 
the  smooth  ice,  gives  us  a jerk,  lets  go,  and  plunges  head- 
foremost down  the  smooth  ice  into  the  black  night,  five 
hundred  feet  below  ! Almost  at  the  same  instant,  a man 
far  behind,  carrying  a light  basket  on  his  head  with  some 
of  our  spare  cloaks  in  it,  misses  his  footing  and  rolls  down 
in  another  place  ; and  after  him,  rolling  over  and  over  like 
a black  bundle,  goes  a boy,  shrieking  as  nobody  but  an 
Italian  can  shriek,  until  the  breath  is  tumbled  out  of  him. 

The  Englishman  is  in  bed  to-day,  terribly  bruised  but 
without  any  broken  bones.  , He  was  insensible  at  first  and 
a mere  heap  of  rags  ; but  we  got  him  before  the  fire,  in  a 
little  hermitage  there  is  halfway  down,  and  he  so  far  recov- 
ered as  to  be  able  to  take  some  supper,  which  was  waiting 
for  us  there.  The  boy  was  brought  in  with  his  head  tied 
up  in  a bloody  cloth,  about  half  an  hour  after  the  rest  of 
us  were  assembled.  And  the  man  who  had  had  the  basket 
was  not  found  when  we  left  the  mountain  at  midnight. 
What  became  of  the  cloaks  (mine  was  among  them)  I know 


164  LETTERS  OF  CB ARLES  DICKENS. 


/. 


as  little.  My  ladies’  clothes  were  so  torn  off  their  backs 
that  they  would  not  have  been  decent,  if  there  could  have 
been  any  thought  of  such  things  at  such  a time.  And 
when  we  got  down  to  the  guides’  house,  we  found  a French 
surgeon  (one  of  another  party  who  had  been  up  before  us) 
lying  on  a bed  in  a stable,  with  God  knows  what  horrible 
breakage  about  him,  but  suffering  acutely  and  looking  like 
death.  A pretty  unusual  trip  for  a pleasure  expedition,  I 
think  ! 

I am  rather  stiff  to-day  but  am  quite  unhurt,  except  a 
slight  scrape  on  my  right  hand.  My  clothes  are  burnt  to 
pieces.  My  ladies  are  the  wonder  of  Naples,  and  every- 
body is  open-mouthed. 

Address  me  as  usual.  All  letters  are  forwarded.  The 
children  well  and  happy.  Best  regards. 

Ever  faithfully. 


[71?  Mr,  W.  C.  Macready^ 

Albion  Hotel,  Broadstairs,  Sunday,  Aug.  i^th,  1845. 
My  dear  Macready, 

I have  been  obliged  to  communicate  with  the  Punch 
men  in  reference  to  Saturday,  the  20th,  as  that  day  of  the 
week  is  usually  their  business  dinner  day,  and  I was  not 
quite  sure  that  it  could  be  conveniently  altered. 

Jerrold  now  assures  me  that  it  can  for  such  a purpose, 
and  that  it  shall,  and  therefore  consider  the  play  as  be- 
ing arranged  to  come  off  on  Saturday,  the  20th  of  next 
month. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  HI  CHENS.  165 

I don’t  know  whether  I told  you  that  we  have  changed 
the  farce  ; and  now  we  are  to  act  Two  o’clock  in  the 
Morning,”  as  performed  by  the  inimitable  B.  at  Montreal. 

In  reference  to  Bruce  Castle  school,  I think  the  ques- 
tion set  at  rest  most  probably  by  the  fact  of  there  being 
no  vacancy  (it  is  always  full)  until  Christmas,  when  How- 
itt’s  two  boys  and  Jerrold’s  one  go  in  and  fill  it  up  again. 
But  after  going  carefully  through  the  school,  a question 
would  arise  in  my  mind  whether  the  system — a perfectly 
admirable  one  ; the  only  recognition  of  education  as  a 
broad  system  of  moral  and  intellectual  philosophy,  that  I 
have  ever  seen  in  practice — do  not  require  so  much  pre- 
paration and  progress  in  the  mind  of  the  boy,  as  that  he 
shall  have  come  there  younger  and  less  advanced  than 
Willy ; or  at  all  events  without  that  very  different  sort 
of  school  experience  which  he  must  have  acquired  at 
Brighton.  I have  no  warrant  for  this  doubt,  beyond  a 
vague  uneasiness  suggesting  a suspicion  of  its  great  proba- 
bility. On  such  slight  ground  I would  not  hint  it  to  any- 
one but  you,  who  I know  will  give  it  its  due  weight,  and 
no  more  and  no  less. 

I have  the  paper  setting  forth  the  nature  of  the  higher 
classical  studies,  and  the  books  they  read.  It  is  the  usual 
course,  and  includes  the  great  books  in  Greek  and  Latin. 
They  have  a miscellaneous  library,  under  the  manage- 
ment of  the  boys  themselves,  of  some  five  or  six  thousand 
volumes,  and  every  means  of  study  and  recreation,  and 
every  inducement  to  self-reliance  and  self-exertion  that 
can  easily  be  imagined.  As  there  is  no  room  just  now. 


l66  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 

you  can  turn  it  over  in  your  mind  again.  And  if  you 
would  like  to  see  the  place  yourself,  when  you  return  to 
town,  I shall  be  delighted  to  go  there  with  you.  I come 
home  on  Wednesday.  It  is  our  rehearsal  night  ; and  of 
course  the  active  and  enterprising  stage-manager  must  be 
at  his  post.  Ever,  my  dear  Macready, 

Affectionately  yours. 

\To  Mr,  George  Gutter  mole  ^ 

August  2‘]thy  1845. 

My  dear  George, 

I write  a line  to  tell  you  a project  we  have  in  view.  A 
little  party  of  us  have  taken  Miss  Kelly’s  theatre  for  the 
night  of  the  20th  of  next  month,  and  we  are  going  to  act 
a play  there,  with  correct  and  pretty  costume,  good  or- 
chestra, etc.,  etc.  The  affair  is  strictly  private.  The  ad- 
mission will  be  by  cards  of  invitation  ; every  man  will  have 
from  thirty  to  thirty-five.  Nobody  can  ask  any  person 
without  the  knowledge  and  sanction  of  the  rest,  my  ob- 
jection being  final ; and  the  expense  to  each  (exclusive  of 
the  dress,  which  every  man  finds  for  himself)  will  not  ex- 
ceed two  guineas.  Forster  plays,  and  Stone  plays,  and  I 
play,  and  some  of  the  Punch  people  play.  Stanfield,  hav- 
ing the  scenery  and  carpenters  to  attend  to,  cannot  man- 
age his  part  also.  It  is  Downright,  in  Every  Man  in  his 
Humour,”  not  at  all  long,  but  very  good  ; he  wants  you 
to  take  it.  And  so  help  me.  We  shall  have  a brilliant 
audience.  The  uphill  part  of  the  thing  is  already  done, 
our  next  rehearsal  is  next  Tuesday,  and  if  you  will  come 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  1 67 

in  you  will  find  everything  to  your  hand,  and  all  very  merry 
and  pleasant. 

Let  me  know  what  you  decide,  like  a Kittenmolian  Tro- 
jan. And  with  love  from  all  here  to  all  there. 

Believe  me,  ever. 

Heartily  yours. 

[7h  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready?^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Thursday,  Sept.  1845. 
My  dear  Macready, 

We  have  a little  supper,  sir,  after  the  farce,  at  No.  9, 
Powis  Place,  Great  Ormond  Street,  in  an  empty  house  be- 
longing to  one  of  the  company.  There  I am  requested  by 
my  fellows  to  beg  the  favour  of  thy  company  and  that  of 
Mrs.  Macready.  The  guests  are  limited  to  the  actors  and 
their  ladies — with  the  exception  of  yourselves,  and  D’Orsay, 
and  George  Cattermole,  or  so  ” — that  sounds  like  Boba- 
dil  a little. 

I am  going  to  adopt  your  reading  of  the  fifth  act  with 
the  worst  grace  in  the  world.  It  seems  to  me  that  you 
don’t  allow  enough  for  Bobadil  having  been  frequently 
beaten  before,  as  I have  no  doubt  he  had  been.  The  part 
goes  down  hideously  on  this  construction,  and  the  end  is 
mere  lees.  But  never  mind,  sir,  I intend  bringing  you  up 
with  the  farce  in  the  most  brilliant  manner. 

Ever  yours  affectionately. 

N.B. — Observe.  I think  of  changing  my  present  mode 
of  life,  and  am  open  to  an  engagement. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


I 68 

N.B.  No.  2. — I will  undertake  not  to  play  tragedy, 
though  passion  is  my  strength. 

N.B.  No.  3. — I consider  myself  a chained  lion.* 

[_To  Mr.  Clarkson  Stanfieldl\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  October  ind,  1845. 

My  dear  Stanny, 

I send  you  the  claret  jug.  But  for  a mistake,  you  would 
have  received  the  little  remembrance  almost  immediately 
after  my  return  from  abroad. 

I need  not  say  how  much  I should  value  another  little 
sketch  from  your  extraordinary  hand  in  this  year’s  small 
volume,  to  which  Mac  again  does  the  frontispiece.  But  I 
cannot  hear  of  it,  and  will  not  have  it  (though  the  gratifi- 
cation of  such  aid,  to  me,  is  really  beyond  all  expression), 
unless  you  will  so  far  consent  to  make  it  a matter  of  busi- 
ness as  to  receive,  without  asking  any  questions,  a cheque 
in  return  from  the  publishers.  Do  not  misunderstand  me 
— though  I am  not  afraid  there  is  much  danger  of  your 
doing  so,  for  between  us  misunderstanding  is,  I hope,  not 
easy.  I know  perfectly  well  that  nothing  can  pay  you  for 
the  devotion  of  any  portion  of  your  time  to  such  a use  of 
your  art.  I know  perfectly  well  that  no  terms  would  in- 
duce you  to  go  out  of  your  way,  in  such  a regard,  for  per- 
haps anybody  else.  I cannot,  nor  do  I desire  to,  vanquish 
the  friendly  obligation  which  help  from  you  imposes  on 

* This  alludes  to  a theatrical  story  of  a second-rate  actor,  who  described  himself 
as  a “ chained  lion,”  in  a theatre  where  he  had  to  play  inferior  parts  to  Mr. 
Macready, 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS,  1O9 


me.  But  I am  not  the  sole  proprietor  of  these  little  books  ; 
and  it  would  be  monstrous  in  you  if  you  were  to  dream  of 
putting  a scratch  into  a second  one  without  some  shadowy 
reference  to  the  other  partners,  ten  thousand  times  more 
monstrous  in  me  if  any  consideration  on  earth  could  in- 
duce me  to  permit  it,  which  nothing  will  or  shall. 

So,  see  what  it  comes  to.  If  you  will  do  me  a favour  on ' 
my  terms  it  will  be  more  acceptable  to  me,  my  dear  Stan- 
field, than  I can  possibly  tell  you.  If  you  will  not  be  so 
generous,  you  deprive  me  of  the  satisfaction  of  receiving 
it  at  your  hands,  and  shut  me  out  from  that  possibility 
altogether.  What  a stony-hearted  ruffian  you  must  be  in 
such  a case  ! 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 


[7b  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready?[ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Friday  Evening,  Oct.  1845. 
My  dear  Macready, 

You  once — only  once — gave  the  world  assurance  of  a 
waistcoat.  You  wore  it,  sir,  I think,  in  Money.”  It  was 
a remarkable  and  precious  waistcoat,  wherein  certain  broad 
stripes  of  blue  or  purple  disported  themselves  as  by  a com- 
^ bination  of  extraordinary  circumstances,  too  happy  to  oc- 
cur again.  I have  seen  it  on  your  manly  chest  in  private 
life.  I saw  it,  sir,  I think,  the  other  day  in  the  cold  light 
of  morning — with  feelings  easier  to  be  imagined  than  de- 
scribed. Mr.  Macready,  sir,  are  you  a father  ? If  so,  lend 
me  that  waistcoat  for  five  minutes.  I am  bidden  to  a wed- 
8 


1 70  LETTERS  OF  C//ARLES  EIC/LENS, 

ding  (where  fathers  are  made),  and  my  artist  cannot,  I 
find  (how  should  he  ?),  imagine  such  a waistcoat.  Let  me 
shoAV  it  to  him  as  a sample  of  my  tastes  and  wishes  ; and 
— ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  ! — eclipse  the  bridegroom  ! 

I will  send  a trusty  messenger  at  half-past  nine  precisely, 
in  the  morning.  He  is  sworn  to  secrecy.  He  durst  not 
for  his  life  betray  us,  or  swells  in  ambuscade  would  have 
the  waistcoat  at  the  cost  of  his  heart’s  blood. 

Thine, 

The  Unwaistcoated  One. 

[n  Viscou7it  Morpeth7\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Nov,  2%th,  1845. 
My  dear  Lord  Morpeth, 

I have  delayed  writing  to  you  until  now,  hoping  I might 
have  been  able  to  tell  you  of  our  dramatic  plans,  and  of 
the  day  on  which  we  purpose  playing.  But  as  these  mat- 
ters are  still  in  abeyance,  I will  give  you  that  precious  in- 
formation when  I come  into  the  receipt  of  it  myself.  And 
let  me  heartily  assure  you,  that  I had  at  least  as  much 
pleasure  in  seeing  you  the  other  day  as  you  can  possibly 
have  had  in  seeing  me  ; and  that  I shall  consider  all  op- 
portunities of  becoming  better  known  to  you  among  the 
most  fortunate  and  desirable  occasions  of  my  life.  And 
that  I am  with  your  conviction  about  the  probability  of 
our  liking  each  other,  and,  as  Lord  Lyndhurst  might  say, 
with  ^‘something  more.” 


Ever  faithfully  yours. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


17I 


1846. 

NARRATIVE. 

In  the  spring  of  this  year  Charles  Dickens  gave  up  the 
editorship  of,  and  finally,  all  connection  with  The  Daily 
News.,  and  went  again  abroad  with  his  family  ; the  house 
in  Devonshire  Terrace  being  let  for  twelve  months.  He 
made  his  summer  residence  at  Lausanne,  taking  a villa 
(Rosemont)  there,  from  May  till  November.  Here  he 
wrote  The  Battle  of  Life,”  and  the  first  number  of  Dom- 
bey  and  Son.”  In  November  he  removed  to  Paris,  where 
he  took  a house  in  the  Rue  de  Courcelles  for  the  winter, 
and  where  he  lived  and  was  at  work  upon  Dombey  ” 
until  March,  1847.  Among  the  English  residents  that 
summer  at  Lausanne  he  made  many  friendships,  in  proof 
of  which  he  dedicated  the  Christmas  book  written  there  to 
his  English  friends  in  Lausanne.”  The  especially  inti- 
mate friendships  which  he  formed  were  with  M.  de  Cerjat? 
who  was  always  a resident  of  Lausanne  with  his  family  ; 
Mr.  Haldimand,  whose  name  is  identified  with  the  place, 
and  with  the  Hon.  Richard  and  Mrs.  Watson,  of  Rocking- 
ham Castle.  He  maintained  a constant  correspondence 
with  them,  and  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Watson  he  afterwards  ded- 
icated his  own  favourite  of  all  his  books,  David  Copper- 
field.”  M.  de  Cerjat,  from  the  time  of  Charles  Dickens 
leaving  Lausanne,  began  a custom,  which  he  kept  up 
almost  without  an  interval  to  the  time  of  his  own  death, 
of  writing  him  a long  letter  every  Christmas,  to  which  he 
returned  answers,  which  will  be  given  in  this  and  the  fol- 
lowing years. 

In  this  year  we  have  the  commencement  of  his  associa- 
tion and  correspondence  with  Mr.  W.  H.  Wills.  Their 
connection  began  in  the  short  term  of  his  editorship  of  The 


i;2 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


Daily  News^  when  he  at  once  fully  appreciated  Mr.  Wills’s 
invaluable  business  qualities.  And  when,  some  time  later, 
he  started  his  own  periodical,  ‘‘  Household  Words,”  he 
thought  himself  very  fortunate  in  being  able  to  secure  Mr. 
Wills’s  co-operation  as  editor  of  that  journal,  and  after- 
wards of  All  the  Year  Round,”  with  which  Household 
Words”  was  incorporated.  They  worked  together  on 
terms  of  the  most  perfect  mutual  understanding,  confi- 
dence, and  affectionate  regard,  until  Mr.  Wills’s  health 
made  it  necessary  for  him  to  retire  from  the  work  in  1868. 
Besides  his  first  notes  to  Mr.  Wills  in  this  year,  we  have 
our  first  letters  to  his  dear  friends,  the  Rev.  James  White, 
Walter  Savage  Landor,  and  Miss  Marion  Ely,  the  niece  of 
Lady  Talfourd. 

\_ToMr,  W.H,  Wills.] 

Devonshire  Terrace,  February  1846. 
My  dear  Mr.  Wills, 

Do  look  at  the  enclosed  from  Mrs,  What’s-her-name. 
For  a surprising  audacity  it  is  remarkable  even  to  me,  who 
am  positively  bullied,  and  all  but  beaten,  by  these  people. 
I wish  you  would  do  me  the  favour  to  write  to  her  (in  your 
own  name  and  from  your  own  address),  stating  that  you 
answered  her  letter  as  you  did,  because  if  I were  the 
wealthiest  nobleman  in  England  I could  not  keep  pace 
with  one-twentieth  part  of  the  demands  upon  me,  and  be- 
cause you  saw  no  internal  evidence  in  her  application  to 
induce  you  to  single  it  out  for  any  especial  notice.  That 
the  tone  of  this  letter  renders  you  exceedingly  glad  you 
did  so  ; and  that  you  decline,  from  me,  holding  any  corre- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


173 


spondence  with  her.  Something  to  that  effect,  after  what 
flourish  your  nature  will.  • 

Faithfully  yours  always. 


\^To  Rev.  James  White ^ 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate,  Regent’s  Park, 

February  1846. 

I cannot  help  telling  you,  my  dear  White,  for  I can 
think  of  no  formal  use  of  Mister  to  such  a writer  as  you, 
that  I have  just  now  read  your  tragedy,  The  Earl  of 
Gowrie,”  with  a delight  which  I should  in  vain  endeavour 
to  express  to  you.  Considered  with  reference  to  its  story, 
or  its  characters,  or  its  noble  poetry,  I honestly  regard  it 
as  a work  of  most  remarkable  genius.  It  has  impressed 
me  powerfully  and  enduringly.  I am  proud  to  have  re- 
ceived it  from  your  hand.  And  if  I have  to  tell  you  what 
complete  possession  it  has  taken  of  me — that  is,  if  I could 
tell  you — I do  believe  you  would  be  glad  to  know  it. 

Always  faithfully  yours. 


iToMr.  W.H.  Wills.]  , 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Monday  Morning,  March  2nd,  1846. 
My  dear  Mr.  Wills, 

I really  don’t  know  what  to  say  about  the  New  Bruns- 
wicker.  The  idea  will  obtrude  itself  on  my  mind,  that  he 
had  no  business  to  come  here  on  such  an  expedition  ; and 
that  it  is  a piece  of  the  wild  conceit  for  which  his  country- 


174 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


men  are  so  remarkable,  and  that  I can  hardly  afford  to  be 
steward  to  sufh  adventurers.  On  the  other  hand,  your 
description  of  him  pleases  me.  Then  that  purse  which  I 
could  never  keep  shut  in  my  life  makes  mouths  at  me, 
saying,  See  how  empty  I am.'’  Then  I fill  it,  and  it 
look^  very  rich  indeed. 

I think  the  best  way  is  to  say,  that  if  you  think  you  can 
do  him  any  permanent  good  with  five  pounds  (that  is,  get 
him  home  again)  I will  give  you  the  money.  But  I should 
be  very  much  indisposed  to  give  it  him,  merely  to  linger 
on  here  about  town  for  a little  time  and  then  be  hard  up 
again. 

As  to  employment,  I do  in  my  soul  believe  that  if  I 
were  Lord  Chancellor  of  England,  I should  have  been 
aground  long  ago,  for  the  patronage  of  a messenger's 
place. 

Say  all  that  is  civil  for  me  to  the  proprietor  of  The  Il- 
lustrated London  JVews,  who  really  seems  to  be  very  liberal. 
“ Other  engagements,"  etc.  etc.,  prevent  me  from  en- 
tertaining," etc.  etc. 

Faithfully  yours  ever. 


[To  Mr.  W.H.  Wills.] 

Devonshire  Terrace,  March  1846. 
My  dear  Mr.  Wills, 

I assure  you  I am  very  truly  and  unaffectedly  sensible 
of  your  earnest  friendliness,  and  in  proof  of  my  feeling  its 
worth  I shall  unhesitatingly  trouble  you  sometimes,  in  the 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


1/5 


fullest  reliance  on  your  meaning  what  you  say.  The  let- 
ter from  Nelson  Square  is  a very  manly  and  touching  one. 
But  I am  more  helpless  in  such  a case  as  that  than  in  any 
other,  having  really  fewer  means  of  helping  such  a gentle- 
man to  employment  than  I have  of  firing  off  the  guns  in 
the  Tower.  Such  appeals  come  to  me  here  in  scores  upon 
scores. 

The  letter  from  Little  White  Lion  Street  does  not  im- 
press me  favourably.  It  is  not  written  in  a simple  or 
truthful  manner,  I am  afraid,  and  is  not  a good  reference. 
Moreover,  I think  it  probable  that  the  writer  may  have 
deserted  some  pursuit  for  which  he  is  qualified,  for  vague 
and  laborious  strivings  which  he  has  no  pretensions  to 
make.  However,  I will  certainly  act  on  your  impression 
of  him,  whatever  it  may  be.  And  if  you  could  explain 
to  the  gentleman  in  Nelson  Square,  that  1 am  not  evading 
his  request,  but  that  I do  not  know  of  anything  to  which 
I can  recommend  him,  it  would  be  a great  relief  to  me. 

I trust  this  new  printer  is  a Tartar  ; and  I hope  to  God 
he  will  so  proclaim  and  assert  his  Tartar  breeding,  as  to 

excommunicate from  the  chapel  ’’  over  which  he 

presides. 

Tell  Powell  (with  my  regards)  that  he  needn’t  deal 
with  ” the  American  notices  of  the  Cricket.”  I never 
read  one  word  of  their  abuse,  and  I should  think  it  base 
to  read  their  praises.  It  is  something  to  know  that  one  is 
righted  so  soon  ; and  knowing  that,  I can  afford  to  know 
no  more. 

Ever  faithfully  yours. 


176 


LETTERS  OF  OIL  ARLES  DICKENS. 


\^To  Mr.  Clarkson  Stanjieldl\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  March  bth,  1846. 

My  dear  Stanny, 

In  reference  to  the  damage  of  the  candlesticks,  I beg 
to  quote  (from  “ The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth,’’  by  the 
highly  popular  and  deservedly  so  Dick)  this  reply  : 

I’ll  damage  you  if  you  enquire.” 

Ever  yours. 

My  block- reeving, 

Main-brace  splicing, 

Lead-heaving, 

Ship-conning, 

Stun’sail-bending, 

Deck-swabbing, 

Son  of  a sea- cook, 

Henry  Bluff, 

H.M.S.  Timber, 

[ To  Mr.  Charles  Knight l\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Saturday^  April  13M,  1846. 
My  dear  Sir, 

Do  you  recollect  sending  me  your  biography  of  Shake- 
speare last  autumn,  and  my  not  acknowledging  its  receipt  ? 
I do,  with  remorse. 

The  truth  is,  that  I took  it  out  of  town  with  me,  read  it 
with  great  pleasure  as  a charming  piece  of  honest  enthusi- 
asm and  perseverance,  kept  it  by  me,  came  home,  meant 
to  say  all  manner  of  things  to  you,  suffered  the  time  to  go 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


177 


by,  got  ashamed,  thought  of  speaking  to  you,  never  saw 
you,  felt  it  heavy  on  my  mind,  and  now  fling  off  the  load 
by  thanking  you  heartily,  and  hoping  you  will  not  think  it 
too  late.  Always  believe  me, 

Faithfully  yours. 


[ To  Miss  Elyi\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Sunday^  April  i()thy  1846. 
My  dear  Miss  Ely, 

A mysterious  emissary  brought  me  a note  in  your  always 
welcome  handwriting  at  the  Athenaeum  last  night.  I en- 
quired of  the  servant  in  attendance  whether  the  bearer  of 
this  letter  was  of  my  vast  establishment.  To  which  he 
replied  Yezzir.”  Then,”  said  I,  tell  him  not  to  wait.” 

Maclise  was  with  me.  It  was  then  half-past  seven.  We 
had  been  walking,  and  were  splashed  to  the  eyes.  We 
debated  upon  the  possibility  of  getting  to  Russell  Square 
in  reasonable  time — decided  that  it  would  be  in  the  worst 
taste  to  appear  when  the  performance  would  be  half  over — 
and  very  reluctantly  decided  not  to  come.  You  may  sup- 
pose how  dirty  and  dismal  we  were  when  we  went  to  the 
Thames  Tunnel,  of  all  places  in  the  world,  instead  ! 

When  I came  home  here  at  midnight  I found  another 
letter  from  you  (I  left  off  in  this  place  to  press  it  dutifully 
to  my  lips).  Then  my  mind  misgave  me  thdityoic  must 
have  sent  to  the  Athenaeum.  At  the  apparent  rudeness  of 
my  reply,  my  face,  as  Hadji  Baba  says,  was  turned  upside 
down,  and  fifty  donkeys  sat  upon  my  father's  grave — or 
would  have  done  so,  but  for  his  not  being  dead  yet. 

8^ 


178 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


Therefore  I send  this  humble  explanation — protesting, 
however,  which  I do  most  solemnly,  against  being  invited 
under  such  untoward  circumstances  ; and  claiming  as  your 
old  friend  and  no  less  old  admirer  to  be  instantly  invited 
to  the  next  performance,  if  such  a thing  is  ever  contem- 
plated. 

Ever,  my  dear  Miss  Ely, 

Faithfully  yours. 

[7b  Mr.  Douglas  Jerrold^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Tuesday,  May  1846. 
My  dear  Jerrold, 

I send  you  herewith  some  books  belonging  to  you.  A 
thousand  thanks  for  the  Hermit.”  He  took  my  fancy 
mightily  when  I first  saw  him  in  the  Illuminated  ; ” and 
I have  stowed  him  away  in  the  left-hand  breast  pocket  of 
my  travelling  coat,  that  we  may  hold  pleasant  converse  to- 
gether on  the  Rhine.  You  see  what  confidence  I have  in 
him  ! 

I wish  you  would  seriously  consider  the  expediency  and 
feasibility  of  coming  to  Lausanne  in  the  summer  or  early 
autumn.  I must  be  at  work  myself  during  a certain  part 
of  every  day  almost,  and  you  could  do  twice  as  much 
there  as  here.  It  is  a wonderful  place  to  see — and  what 
sort  of  welcome  you  would  find  I will  say  nothing  about, 
for  I have  vanity  enough  to  believe  that  you  would  be 
willing  to  feel  yourself  as  much  at  home  in  my  household 
as  in  any  man's. 

Do  think  it  over.  I could  send  you  the  minutest  par- 


■LETTEI^S  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


179 


ticular  of  the  journey.  It  is  really  all  railroad  and  steam- 
boat, and  the  easiest  in  the  world. 

At  Macready’s  on  Thursday,  we  shall  meet,  please  God  ! 

Always,  my  dear  Jerrold, 

Cordially  yours. 

\To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready^ 

Geneva,  Saturday^  October  i^th^  1846. 

My  dear  Macready, 

The  welcome  sight  of  your  handwriting  moves  me 
(though  I have  nothing  to  say)  to  show  you  mine,  and  if  I 
could  recollect  the  passage  in  Virginius  I would  paraphrase 
it,  and  say,  Does  it  seem  to  tremble,  boy  ? Is  it  a lov- 
ing autograph  ? Does  it  beam  with  friendship  and  affec- 
tion ? all  of  which  I say,  as  I write,  with — oh  Heaven  ! 
— such  a' splendid  imitation  of  you,  and  finally  give  you 
one  of  those  grasps  and  shakes  with  which  I have  seen 
you  make  the  young  Icilius  stagger  again. 

Here  I am,  running  away  from  a bad  headache  as 
Tristram  Shandy  ran  away  from  death,  and  lodging  for  a 
week  in  the  Hotel  de  TEcu  de  Geneve,  wherein  there  is  a 
large  mirror  shattered  by  a cannon-ball  in  the  late  revolu- 
tion. A revolution,  whatever  its  merits,  achieved  by  free 
spirits,  nobly  generous  and  moderate,  even  in  the  first 
transports  of  victory,  elevated  by  a splendid  popular  edu- 
cation, and  bent  on  freedom  from  all  tyrants,  whether 
their  crowns  be  shaven  or  golden.  The  newspapers  may 
tell  you  what  they  please.  I believe  there  is  no  country 
on  earth  but  Switzerland  in  which  a violent  change  could 
have  been  effected  in  the  Christian  spirit  shown  in  this 


i8o 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


place,  or  in  the  same  proud,  independent,  gallant  style. 
Not  one  halfpennyworth  of  property  was  lost,  stolen,  or 
strayed.  Not  one  atom  of  party  malice  survived  the 
smoke  of  the  last  gun.  Nothing  is  expressed  in  the  Gov- 
ernment addresses  to  the  citizens  but  a regard  for  the 
general  happiness,  and  injunctions  to  forget  all  animos- 
ities ; which  they  are  practically  obeying  at  every  turn, 
though  the  late  Government  (of  whose  spirit  I had  some 
previous  knowledge)  did  load  the  guns  with  such  material 
as  should  occasion  gangrene  in  the  wounds,  and  though  the 
wounded  do  die,  consequently,  every  day,  in  the  hospital, 
of  sores  that  in  themselves  were  nothing. 

You  a mountaineer  ! You  examine  (I  have  seen  you  do 
it)  the  point  of  your  young  son's  baton  de  montagne  be- 
fore he  went  up  into  the  snow  ! And  you  talk  ob  coming 
to  Lausanne  in  March  ! Why,  Lord  love  your  heart, 
William  Tell,  times  are  changed  since  you  lived  at  Altorf. 
There  is  not  a mountain  pass  open  until  June.  The  snow 
is  closing  in  on  all  the  panorama  already.  I was  at  the 
Great  St.  Bernard  two  months  ago,  and  it  was  bitter  cold 
and  frosty  then.  Do  you  think  I could  let  you  hazard 
your  life  by  going  up  any  pass  worth  seeing  in  bleak 
March  ? Never  shall  it  be  said  that  Dickens  sacrificed 
his  friend  upon  the  altar  of  his  hospitality  ! Onward  ! 
To  Paris  ! (Cue  for  band.  Dickens  points  off  with  trun- 
cheon, first  entrance  P.S.  Page  delivers  gauntlets  on  one 
knee.  Dickens  puts  ’em  on  and  gradually  falls  into  a fit 
of  musing.  Mrs.  Dickens  lays  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 
Business.  Procession.  Curtain.) 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS.  l8l 

It  is  a great  pleasure  to  me,  my  dear  Macready,  to  hear 
from  yourself,  as  I had  previously  heard  from  Forster, 
that  you  are  so  well  pleased  with  Dombey,'’  which  is  evi- 
dently a great  success  and  a great  hit,  thank  God  ! I felt 
that  Mrs.  Brown  was  strong,  but  I was  not  at  all  afraid 
of  giving' as  heavy  a blow  as  I could  to  a piece  of  hot 
iron  that  lay  ready  at  my  hand.  For  that  is  my  principle 
always,  and  I hope  to  come  down  with  some  heavier 
sledge-hammers  than  that. 

I know  the  lady  of  whom  you  write.  left  there 

only  yesterday.  The  story  may  arise  only  in  her  manner, 
which  is  extraordinarily  free  and  careless.  He  was  visit- 
ing her  here,  when  I was  here  last,  three  weeks  ago.  I 
knew  her  in  Italy.  It  is  not  her  fault  if  scandal  ever 
leaves  her  alone,  for  such  a braver  of  all  conventionalities 
never  wore  petticoats.  But  I should  be  sorry  to  hear 
there  was  anything  guilty  in  her  conduct.  She  is  very 
clever,  really  learned,  very  pretty,  much  neglected  by  her 
husband,  and  only  four-and-twenty  years  of  age. 

Kate  and  Georgy  send  their  best  loves  to  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Macready,  and  all  your  house. 

Your  most  affectionate  Friend. 

[7h  Mr,  Haldimand.\ 

Paris,  November,,  1846. 

Talking  of  which*  reminds  me  to  say,  that  I have  writ- 


* “ The  Battle  of  Life,' 


i82 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


ten  to  my  printers,  and  told  them  to  prefix  to  The  Battle 
of  Life  ” a dedication  that  is  printed  in  illuminated  capi- 
tals on  my  heart.  It  is  only  this  : 

This  Christmas  book  is  cordially  inscribed  to  my  Eng- 
lish friends  in  Switzerland.” 

I shall  trouble  you  with  a little  parcel  of  three  or  four 
copies  to  distribute  to  those  whose  names  will  be  found 
written  in  them,  as  soon  as  they  can  be  made  ready,  and 
believe  me,  that  there  is  no  success  or  approval  in  the 
great  world  beyond  the  Jura  that  will  be  more  precious 
and  delightful  to  me,  than  the  hope  that  I shall  be  re- 
membered of  an  evening  in  the  coming  winter  time,  at  one 
or  two  friends’  I could  mention  near  the  Lake  of  Geneva. 
It  runs  with  a spring  tide,  that  will  always  flow  and  never 
ebb,  through  my  memory  ; and  nothing  less  than  the 
waters  of  Lethe  shall  confuse  the  music  of  its  running, 
until  it  loses  itself  in  that  great  sea,  for  which  all  the  cur- 
rents of  our  life  are  desperately  bent. 

[ To  Mr,  Walter  Savage  Landor.'] 

Paris,  Sunday^  November  22nd ^ 1846. 

Young  Man, 

I will  not  go  there  if  I can  help  it.  I have  not  the  least 
confidence  in  the  value  of  your  introduction  to  the  Devil. 
I can’t  help  thinking  that  it  would  be  of  better  use  the 
other  way,  the  other  way,”  but  I won’t  try  it  there,  either, 
at  present,  if  I can  help  it.  Your  godson  says,  is  that 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS.  1 83 

your  duty  ? and  he  begs  me  to  enclose  a blush  newly 
blushed  for  you. 

As  to  writing,  I have  written  to  you  twenty  times  and 
twenty  more  to  that,  if  you  only  knew  it.  I have  been 
writing  a little  Christmas  book,  besides,  expressly  for  you. 
And  if  you  don’t  like  it,  I shall  go  to  the  font  of  Maryle- 
^ bone  Church  as  soon  as  I conveniently  can  and  renounce 
you  : I am  not  to  be  trifled  with.  I write  from  Paris.  I 
am  getting  up  some  French  steam.  I intend  to  proceed 
upon  the  longing-for-a-lap-of-blood-at-last  principle,,  and 
if  you  do  offend  me,  look  to  it. 

We  are  all  well  and  happy,  and  they  send  loves  to  you 
by  the  bushel.  We  are  in  the  agonies  of  house-hunting. 
The  people  are  frightfully  civil,  and  grotesquely  extortion- 
ate. One  man  (with  a house  to  let)  told  me  yesterday 
that  he  loved  the  Duke  of  Wellington  like  a brother.  The 
same  gentleman  wanted  to  hug  me  round  the  neck  with 
one  hand,  and  pick  my  pocket  with  the  other. 

Don’t  be  hard  upon  the  Swiss.  They  are  a thorn  in  the 
sides  of  European  despots,  and  a good  wholesome  people 
to  live  near  Jesuit-ridden  kings  on  the  brighter  side  of  the 
mountains.  My  hat  shall  ever  be  ready  to  be  thrown  up, 
and  my  glove  ever  ready  to  be  thrown  down  for  Switzer- 
land. If  you  were  the  man  I took  you  for,  when  I took 
you  (as  a godfather)  for  better  and  for  worse,  you  would 
come  to  Paris  and  amaze  the  weak  walls  of  the  house  I 
haven’t  found  with  that  steady  snore  of  yours,  which  I 
once  heard  piercing  the  door  of  your  bedroom  in  Devon- 
shire Terrace,  reverberating  along  the  bell- wire  in  the 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


184 

hall,  so  getting  outside  into  the  street,  playing  Eolian 
harps  among  the  area  railings,  and  going  down  the  New 
Road  like  the  blast  of  a trumpet. 

I forgive  you  your  reviling  of  me  : there’s  a shovelful  of 
live  coals  for  your  head— does  it  burn  ? And  am,  with 
true  affection — does  it  burn  now  ? — 

Ever  yours. 

iTo  the  Hon.  Richard  Watson^ 

Paris,  48,  Rue  de  Courcelles,  St.  Honore, 

Friday y Nov.  2'^thy  1846. 

'My  DEAR  Watson, 

We  were  housed  only  yesterday.  I lose  no  time  in  de- 
spatching this  memorandum  of  our  whereabouts,  in  order 
that  you  may  not  fail  to  write  me  a line  before  you  come 
to  Paris  on  your  way  towards  England,  letting  me  know 
on  what  day  we  are  to  expect  you  to  dinner. 

We  arrived  here  quite  happily  and  well.  I don’t  mean 
here,  but  at  the  Hotel  Brighton,  in  Paris,  on  Friday  even- 
ing, between  six  and  seven  o’clock.  The  agonies  of  house- 
hunting were  frightfully  severe.  It  was  one  paroxysm  for 
four  mortal  days.  I am  proud  to  express  my  belief,  that 
we  are  lodged  at  last  in  the  most  preposterous  house  in  the 
world.  The  like  of  it  cannot,  and  so  far  as  my  knowledge 
goes  does  not,  exist  in  any  other  part  of  the  globe.  The 
bedrooms  are  like  opera-boxes.  The  dining-rooms,  stair- 
cases, and  passages,  quite  inexplicable.  The  dining-room 
is  a sort  of  cavern,  painted  (ceiling  and  all)  to  represent  a 
grove,  with  unaccountable  bits  of  looking-glass  sticking  in 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS. 


185 


among  the  branches  of  the  trees.  There  is  a gleam  of 
reason  in  the  drawing-room.  But  it  is  approached  through 
a series  of  small  chambers,  like  the  joints  in  a telescope, 
which  are  hung  with  inscrutable  drapery.  The  maddest 
man  in  Bedlam,  having  the  materials  given  him,  would  be 
likely  to  devise  such  a suite,  supposing  his  case  to  be  hope- 
less and  quite  incurable. 

Pray  tell  Mrs.  Watson,  with  my  best  regards,  that  the 
dance  of  the  two  sisters  in  the  little  Christmas  book  is  be- 
ing done  as  an  illustration  by  Maclise  ; and  that  Stanfield 
is  doing  the  battle-ground  and  the  outside  of  the  Nutmeg 
Grater  Inn.  Maclise  is  also  drawing  some  smaller  subjects 
for  the  little  story,  and  they  write  me  that  they  hope  it  will 
be  very  pretty,  and  they  think  that  I shall  like  it.  I shall 
have  been  in  London  before  I see  you,  probably,  and  I 
hope  the  book  itself  will  then  be  on  its  road  to  Lausanne 
to  speak  for  itself,  and  to  speak  a word  for  me  too.  I have 
never  left  so  many  friendly  and  cheerful  recollections  in 
any  place  ; and  to  represent  me  in  my  absence,  its  tone 
should  be  very  eloquent  and  affectionate  indeed. 

Well,  if  I don’t  turn  up  again  next  summer  it  shall  not 
be  my  fault.  In  the  meanwhile,  I shall  often  and  often 
look  that  way  with  my  mind’s  eye,  and  hear  the  sweet, 
clear,  bell-like  voice  of with  the  ear  of  my  im- 

agination. In  the  event  of  there  being  any  change — but 
it  is  not  likely — in  the  appearance  of  his  cravat  behind, 
where  it  goes  up  into  his  head,  I mean,  and  frets  against 
his  wig — I hope  some  one  of  my  English  friends  will  ap- 
prise me  of  it,  for  the  love  of  the  great  Saint  Bernard. 


1 86  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 

I have  not  seen  Lord  Normanby  yet.  I have  not  seen 
anything  up  to  this  time  but  houses  and  lodgings.  There 
seems  to  be  immense  excitement  here  on  the  subject  of 
however,  and  a perfectly  stupendous  sensation  get- 
ting up.  I saw  the  king  the  other  day  coming  into  Paris. 
His  carriage  was  surrounded  by  guards  on  horseback,  and 
he  sat  very  far  back  in  it,  I thought,  and  drove  at  a great 
pace.  It  was  strange  to  see  the  prefet  of  police  on  horse- 
back some  hundreds  of  yards  in  advance,  looking  to  the 
right  and  left  as  he  rode,  like  a man  who  suspected  every 
twig  in  every  tree  in  the  long  avenue. 

The  English  relations  look  anything  but  promising, 
though  I understand  that  the  Count  St.  Aulaire  is  to 
remain  in  London,  notwithstanding  the  newspaper  alarms 
to  the  contrary.  If  there  be  anything  like  the  sensation  in 

England  about that  there  is  here,  there  will  be  a 

bitter  resentment  indeed.  The  democratic  society  of  Paris 
have  announced,  this  morning,  their  intention  of  printing 
and  circulating  fifty  thousand  copies  of  an  appeal  in  every 
European  language.  It  is  a base  business  beyond  ques- 
tion, and  comes  at  an  ill  time. 

Mrs.  Dickens  and  her  sister  desire  their  best  regards  to 
be  sent  to  you  and  their  best  loves  to  Mrs.  Watson,  in 
which  I join,  as  nearly  as  I may.  Believe  me,  with  great 
truth. 

Very  sincerely  yours. 

P.S. — Mrs.  Dickens  is  going  to  write  to  Mrs.  AVatson 
next  week,  she  says. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DTCKENS.  1 8/ 

\^To  M.  Cerjat^ 

Paris,  48,  Rue  de  Courcelles,  St.  Honors, 

Friday^  Nov.  I'-ith.,  1846. 

My  dear  Cerjat, 

When  we  turned  out  of  your  view  on  that  disconsolate 
Monday,  when  you  so  kindly  took  horse  and  rode  forth  to 
say  good-bye,  we  went  on  in  a very  dull  and  drowsy  man- 
ner, I can  assure  you.  I could  have  borne  a world  of 
punch  in  the  rumble  and  been  none  the  worse  for  it.  There 
was  an  uncommonly  cool  inn  that  night,  and  quite  a 
monstrous  establishment  at  Auxonne  the  next  night,  full  of 
flatulent  passages  and  banging  doors.  The  next  night  we 
passed  at  Montbard,  where  there  is  one  of  the  very  best 
little  inns  in  all  France.  The  next  at  Sens,  and  so  we  got 
here.  The  roads  were  bad,  but  not  very  for  French  roads. 
There  was  no  deficiency  of  horses  anywhere  ; and  after 
Pontarlier  the  weather  was  really  not  too  cold  for  comfort. 
They  weighed  our  plate  at  the  frontier  custom-house, 
spoon  by  spoon,  and  fork  by  fork,  and  we  lingered  about 
there,  in  a thick  fog  and  a hard  frost,  for  three  long  hours 
and  a half,  during  which  the  officials  committed  all  manner 
of  absurdities,  and  got  into  all  sorts  of  disputes  with  my 
brave  courier.  This  was  the  only  misery  we  encountered 
— except  leaving  Lausanne,  and  that  was  enough  to  last  us 
and  did  last  us  all  the  way  here.  We  are  living  on  it  now. 
I felt,  myself,  much  as  I should  think  the  murderer  felt  on 
that  fair  morning  when,  with  his  gray-haired  victim  (those 
unconscious  gray  hairs,  soon  to  be  bedabbled  with  blood), 
he  went  so  far  towards  heaven  as  the  top  of  that  mountain 


i88 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


of  St.  Bernard  without  one  touch  of  remorse.  A weight  is 
on  my  breast.  The  only  difference  between  me  and  the 
murderer  is,  that  his  weight  was  guilt  and  mine  is  regret. 

I haven’t  a word  of  news  to  tell  you.  I shouldn’t  write 
at  all  if  I were  not  the  vainest  man  in  the  world,  impelled 
by  a belief  that  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  from  me,  even 
though  you  hear  no  more  than  that  I have  nothing  to  say. 

Dombey  ” is  doing  wonders.  It  went  up,  after  the  pub- 
lication of  the  second  number,  over  the  thirty  thousand. 
This  is^such  a very  large  sale,  so  early  in  the  story,  that  I 
begin  to  think  it  will  beat  all  the  rest.  Keeley  and  his  wife 
are  making  great  preparations  for  producing  the  Christmas 
story,  and  I have  made  them  (as  an  old  stage  manager) 
carry  out  one  or  two  expensive  notions  of  mine  about 
scenery  and  so  forth — in  particular  a sudden  change  from 
the  inside  of  the  doctor’s  house  in  the  midst  of  the  ball  to 
the  orchard  in  the  snow — which  ought  to  tell  very  well. 
But  actors  are  so  bad,  in -general,  and  the  best  are  spread 
over  so  many  theatres,  that  the  cast  ” is  black  despair  and 
moody  madness.  There  is  no  one  to  be  got  for  Marion 

but  a certain  Miss , I am  afraid — a pupil  of  Miss 

Kelly’s,  who  acted  in  the  private  theatricals  I got  up  a 
year  ago.  Macready  took  her  afterwards  to  play  Virginia 
to  his  Virginius,  but  she  made  nothing  of  it,  great  as  the 
chance  was.  I have  promised  to  show  her  what  I mean, 
as  near  as  I can,  and  if  you  will  look  into  the  English  Opera 
House  on  the  morning  of  the  17th,  i8th,  or  19th  of  next 
month,  between  the  hours  of  eleven  and  four,  you  will  find 
me  in  a very  hot  and  dusty  condition,  playing  all  the  parts 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


189 


of  the  piece,  to  the  immense  diversion  of  all  the  actors, 
actresses,  scene-shifters,  carpenters,  musicians,  chorus  peo- 
ple, tailors,  dressmakers,  scene-painters,  and  general  raga- 
muffins of  the  theatre. 

Moore,  the  poet,  is  very  ill — I fear  dying.  The  last 
time  I saw  him  was  immediately  before  I left  London,  and 
I thought  him  sadly  changed  and  tamed,  but  not  much 
more  so  than  such  a man  might  be  under  the  heavy  hand 
of  time.  I believe  he  suffered  severe  grief  in  the  death  of 
a son  some  time  ago.  The  first  man  I met  in  Paris  was 

, who  took  hold  of  me  as  I was  getting  into  a coach  at 

the  door  of  the  hotel.  He  hadn’t  a button  on  his  shirt 
(but  I don’t  think  he  ever  has),  and  you  might  have  sown 
what  boys  call  mustard  and  cress  ” in  the  dust  on  his 
coat.  I have  not  seen  Lord  Normanby  yet,  as  we  have 
only  just  got  a house  (the  queerest  house  in  Europe  !)  to 
lay  our  heads  in  ; but  there  seems  reason  to  fear  that  the 
growing  dissensions  between  England  and  France,  and  the 
irritation  of  the  French  king,  may  lead  to  the  withdrawal 
of  the  minister  on  each  side  of  the  Channel. 

Have  you  cut  down  any  more  trees,  played  any  more 
rubbers,  propounded  any  more  teasers  to  the  players  at  the 
game  of  Yes  and  No?  How  is  the  old  horse?  How  is 
the  gray  mare  ? How  is  Crab  (to  whom  my  respectful 
compliments)  ? Have  you  tried  the  punch  yet ; if  yes,  did 
it  succeed  ; if  no,  why  not  ? Is  Mrs.  Cerjat  as  happy  and 
as  well  as  I would  have  her,  and  all  your  house  ditto  ditto  ? 
Does  Haldimand  play  whist  with  any  science  yet  ? Ha, 
ha,  ha  ! the  idea  of  his  saying  I hadn’t  any  ! And  are 


1 90  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 

those  damask-cheeked  virgins,  the  Miss , still  sleeping 

on  dewy  rose  leaves  near  the  English  church  ? 

Remember  me  to  all  your  house,  and  most  of  all  to  its 
other  head,  with  all  the  regard  and  earnestness  that  a 
numble  individual  (as  they  always  call  it  in  the  House 
of  Commons)  who  once  travelled  with  her  in  a car  over  a 
smooth  country  may  charge  you  with.  I have  added  two 
lines  to  the  little  Christmas  book,  that  I hope  both  you 
and  she  may  not  dislike.  Haldimand  will  tell  you  what 
they  are.  Kate  and  Georgy  send  their  kindest  loves,  and 
Kate  is  going  ” to  write  ^^next  week.''  Believe  me 
always,  my  dear  Cerjat,  full  of  cordial  and  hearty  recollec- 
tions of  this  past  summer  and  autumn,  and  your  part  in 
my  part  of  them. 

Very  faithfully  your  Friend. 

\ To  Mrs.  Charles  Dickens^ 

58,  Lincoln’s  Inn  Fields,  Saturday ^ Dec.  igtk^  1846. 
My  dearest  Kate, 

I really  am  bothered  to  death  by  this  confounded  dram- 
atization of  the  Christmas  book.  They  were  in  a state  so 
horrible  at  Keeley's  yesterday  (as  perhaps  Forster  told  you 
when  he  wrote),  that  I was  obliged  to  engage  to  read  the 
book  to  them  this  morning.  It  struck  me  that  Mrs.  Leigh 
Murray,  Miss  Daly,  and  Vining  seemed  to  understand  it 
best.  Certainly  Miss  Daly  knew  best  what  she  was  about 
yesterday.  At  eight  to-night  we  have  a rehearsal  with 
scenery  and  band,  and  everything  but  dresses.  I see  no 
possibility  of  escaping  from  it  before  one  or  two  o'clock 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS.  IQ  I 

in  the  morning.  And  I was  at  the  theatre  all  day  yester- 
day. Unless  I had  come  to  London,  I do  not  think  there 
would  have  been  much  hope  of  the  version  being  more 
than  just  tolerated,  even  that  doubtful.  All  the  actors 
bad,  all  the  business  frightfully  behindhand.  The  very 
words  of  the  book  confused  in  the  copying  into  the  densest 
and  most  insufferable  nonsense.  I must  exempt,  however, 
from  the  general  slackness  both  the  Keeleys.  I hope  they 
will  be  very  good.  I have  never  seen  anything  of  its  kind 
better  than  the  manner  in  which  they  played  the  little 
supper  scene  between  Clemency  and  Britain,  yesterday. 
It  was  quite  perfect,  even  to  me. 

The  small  manager,  Forster,  Talfourd,  Stanny,  and 
Mac  dine  with  me  at  the  Piazza  to-day,  before  the  rehear- 
sal. I have  already  one  or  two  uncommonly  good  stories 
of  Mac.  I reserve  them  for  narration.  I have  also  a 
dreadful  cold,  which  I would  not  reserve  if  I could  help 
it.  I can  hardly  hold  up  my  head,  and  fight  through 
from  hour  to  hour,  but  had  serious  thoughts  just  now  of 
walking  off  to  bed. 

Christmas  book  published  to-day — twenty-three  thou- 
sand copies  already  gone  ! ! ! Browne’s  plates  for  next 

Dombey  ” much  better  than  usual. 

I have  seen  nobody  yet,  of  course.  But  I sent  Roche 
up  to  your  mother  this  morning,  to  say  I am  in  town  and 
will  come  shortly.  There  is  a great  thaw  here  to-day,  and 
it  is  raining  hard.  I hope  you  have  the  advantage  (if  it  be 
one,  which  I am  not  sure  of)  of  a similar  change  in  Paris. 
Of  course  I start  again  on  Thursday.  We  are  expecting 


192 


LETTERS  OF  C/LA  RTFS  DICKENS. 


(Roche  and  I)  a letter  from  the  malle  poste  people,  to 
whom  we  have  applied  for  places.  The  journey  here  was 
long  and  cold — twenty-four  hours  from  Paris  to  Boulogne. 
Passage  not  very  bad,  and  made  in  two  hours. 

I find  I can’t  write  at  all,  so  I had  best  leave  off.  I am 
looking  impatiently  for  your  letter  on  Monday  morning. 
Give  my  best  love  to  Georgy,  and  kisses  to  all  the  dear 
children.  And  believe  me,  my  love. 

Most  affectionately. 

[ To  Mrs.  Charles  Dickens 

Piazza  Coffee-house,  Co  vent  Garden, 

Monday,  Dec.  21st,  1846. 

My  dearest  Kate, 

In  a quiet  interval  of  half  an  hour  before  going  to  dine 
at  Macready’s,  I sit  down  to  write  you  a few  words.  But 
I shall  reserve  my  letter  for  to-morrow’s  post,  in  order 
that  you  may  hear  what  I hear  of  the  going  ” of  the  play 
to-night.  Think  of  my  being  here  on  Saturday,  with  a 
really  frightful  cold,  and  working  harder  than  ever  I did 
at  the  amateur  plays,  until  two  in  the  morning.  There 
was  no  supper  to  be  got,  either  here  or  anywhere  else,  after 
coming  out ; and  I was  as  hungry  and  thirsty  as  need  be. 
The  scenery  and  dresses  are  very  good  indeed,  and  they 
have  spent  money  on  it  liberally.  The  great  change  from 
the  ball-room  to  the  snowy  night  is  most  effective,  and  both 
the  departure  and  the  return  will  tell,  I think,  strongly  on 
an  audience.  I have  made  them  very  quick  and  excited  in 
the  passionate  scenes,  and  so  have  infused  some  appearance 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


193 


of  life  into  those  parts  of  the  play.  But  I can’t  make  a 

Marion,  and  Miss  is  awfully  bad.  She  is  a mere 

nothing  all  through.  I put  Mr.  Leigh  Murray  into  such 
a state,  by  making  him  tear  about,  that  the  perspiration 
ran  streaming  down  his  face.  They  have  a great  let. 
I believe  every  place  in  the  house  is  taken.  Roche  is 
going. 

Tuesday  Morning. — The  play  went,  as  well  as  I can 
make  out — I hoped  to  have  had  Stanny’s  report  of  it,  but 
he  is  ill — with  great  effect.  There  was  immense  enthusi- 
asm at  its  close,  and  great  uproar  and  shouting  for  me. 
Forster  will  go  on  Wednesday,  and  write  you  his  account 
of  it.  I saw  the  Keeleys  on  the  stage  at  eleven  o’clock  or 
so,  and  they  were  in  prodigious  spirits  and  delight. 

[7h  Mr.  John  Forster^ 

48,  Rue  de  Courcelles,  Paris, 

Sunday  Nighty  Dec.  27///,  1846. 

My  very  dear  Forster, 

Amen,  amen.  Many  merry  Christmases,  many  happy 
new  years,  unbroken  friendship,  great  accumulation  of 
cheerful  recollections,  affection  on  earth,  and  heaven  at 
last  for  all  of  us. 

I enclose  you  a letter  from  Jeffrey,  which  you  may  like 
to  read.  Bring  it  to  me  back  when  you  coine  over.  I have 
told  him  all  he  wants  to  know.  Is  it  not  a strange  exam- 
ple of  the  hazards  of  writing  in  numbers  that  a man  like 
him  should  form  his  notion  of  Dombey  and  Miss  Tox  on 
three  months’  knowledge  ? I have  asked  him  the  same 
9 


194 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS. 


question,  and  advised  him  to  keep  his  eye  on  both  of  them 
as  time  rolls  on. 

We  had  a cold  journey  here  from  Boulogne,  but  the 
roads  were  not  very  bad.  The  malle  poste,  however,  now 
takes  the  train  at  Amiens.  We  missed  it  by  ten  minutes, 
and  had  to  wait  three  hours — from  twelve  o’clock  until 
three,  in  which  interval  I drank  brandy  and  water,  and 
slept  like  a top.  It  is  delightful  travelling  for  its  speed, 
that  malle  poste,  and  really  for  its  comfort  too.  But  on 
this  occasion  it  was  not  remarkable  for  the  last-named 
quality.  The  director  of  the  post  at  Boulogne  told  me  a 
lamentable  story  of  his  son  at  Paris  being  ill,  and  implored 
me  to  bring  him  on.  The  brave  doubted  the  representa- 
tions altogether,  but  I couldn’t  find  it  in  my  heart  to  say 
no  ; so  we  brought  the  director,  bodkinwise,  and  being  a 
large  man,  in  a great  number  of  greatcoats,  he  crushed  us 
dismally  until  we  got  to  the  railroad.  For  two  passengers 
(and  it  never  carries  more)  it  is  capital.  For  three,  excru- 
ciating. 

Write  to  what  you  have  said  to  me.  You  need 

write  no  more.  He  is  full  of  vicious  fancies  and  wrong 
suspicions,  even  of  Hardwick,  and  I had  rather  he  heard 
it  from  you  than  from  me,  whom  he  is  not  likely  to  love 
much  in  his  heart.  I doubt  it  may  be  but  a rusty  instru- 
ment for  want  of  use,  the ish  heart. 

My  most  important  present  news  is  that  I am  going  to 
take  a jorum  of  hot  rum  and  egg  in  bed  immediately,  and 
to  cover  myself  up  with  all  the  blankets  in  the  house. 
Love  from  all.  I have  a sensation  in  my  head,  as  if  it 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


195 


Avcre  on  edge/'  It  is  still  very  cold  here,  but  the  snow 
had  disappeared  on  my  return,  both  here  and  on  the  road, 
except  within  ten  miles  or  so  of  Boulogne. 

Ever  affectionately. 


1847. 

NARRATIVE. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  year  Charles  Dickens  was  still 
living  in  Paris — Rue  de  Courcelles.  His  stay  was  cut 
shorter  than  he  intended  it  to  have  been,  by  the  illness 
from  scarlet  fever  of  his  eldest  son,  who  was  at  school  in 
London.  Consequent  upon  this,  he  and  his  wife  went  to 
London  at  the  end  of  February,  taking  up  their  abode  at 
the  Victoria  Hotel,  Euston  Square,  the  Devonshire  Terrace 
house  being  still  occupied  by  its  tenant,  Sir  James  Duke, 
and  the  sick  boy  under  the  care  of  his  grandmother,  Mrs. 
Hogarth,  in  Albany  Street.  The  children,  with  their  aunt, 
remained  in  Paris,  until  a teniporary  house  had  been  taken 
for  the  family  in  Chester  Place,  Regent’s  Park  ; and  Roche 
was  then  sent  back  to  take  all  home.  In  Chester  Place 
another  son  was  born — Sydney  Smith  Haldimand — his 
godfathers  being  Mr.  Haldimand,  of  Lausanne,  and  Mr. 
H.  P.  Smith,  of  the  Eagle  Life  Assurance  office.  He  was 
christened  at  the  same  time  as  a daughter  of  Mr.  Mac- 
ready’s,  and  the  letters  to  Mr.  Smith  have  reference  to 
the  postponement  of  the  christening  on  Mr.  Smith’s  ac- 
count. In  May,  Charles  Dickens  had  lodgings  in  Brighton 
for  some  weeks,  for  the  recovery  of  Mrs.  Dickens’s  health  ; 
going  there  first  with  his  wife  and  sister-in-law  and  the 
eldest  boy — now  recovered  from  his  fever — and  being 
joined  at  the  latter  part  of  the  time  by  his  two  little 


196  LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICLCENS. 

daughters,  to  whom  there  are  some  letters  among  those 
which  follow  here.  He  removed  earlier  than  usual  this 
summer  to  Broadstairs,  which  remained  his  head-quarters 
until  October,  with  intervals  of  absence  for  amateur  theat- 
rical tours  (which  Mr.  Forster  calls  ‘^splendid  strolling”), 
in  which  he  was  usually  accompanied  by  his  wife  and 
sister-in-law.  Several  new  recruits  had  been  added  to  the 
theatrical  company,  from  among  distinguished  literary  men 
and  artists,  and  it  now  included,  besides  those  previously 
named,  Mr.  George  Cruikshank,  Mr.  George  Henry  Lewes, 
and  Mr.  Augustus  Egg  ; the  supreme  management  and 
arrangement  of  everything  being  always  left  to  Charles 
Dickens.  Every  Man  in  his  Humour  ” and  farces  were 
again  played  at  Manchester  and  Liverpool,  for  the  benefit 
of  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt,  and  the  dramatic  author,  Mr.  John 
Poole. 

By  the  end  of  the  Broadstairs  holiday,  the  house  in 
Devonshire  Terrace  was  vacant,  and  the  family  returned 
to  it  in  October.  All  this  year  Charles  Dickens  had  been 
at  work  upon  the  monthly  numbers  of  Dombey  and  Son,” 
in  spite  of  these  many  interruptions.  He  began  at  Broad- 
stairs a Christmas  book.  But  he  found  that  the  engrossing 
interest  of  his  novel  approaching  completion  made  it  im- 
possible for  him  to  finish  the  other  Avork  in  time.  So  he 
decided  to  let  this  Christmas  pass  without  a story,  and 
postponed  the  publication  of  The  Haunted  Man  ” until 
the  following  year. 

At  the  close  of  the  year  he  went  to  Leeds,  to  take  the 
chair  at  a meeting  of  the  Mechanics’  Institute,  and  on  the 
28th  December  he  presided  at  the  opening  of  the  Glasgow 
Athenaeum ; he  and  his  wife  being  the  guests  of  the  his- 
torian— then  Mr.  Sheriff,  afterwards  Sir  Archibald  Alison. 
From  a letter  to  his  sister-in-law,  written  from  Edinburgh, 
it  will  be  seen  that  Mrs.  Dickens  was  prevented  by  sudden 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


197 


illness  from  being  present  at  the  demonstration/’  At 
the  end  of  that  letter  there  is  another  illustration  of  the 
odd  names  he  was  in  the  habit  of  giving  to  his  children, 
the  last  of  the  three,  the  Hoshen  Peck,”  being  a corrup- 
tion of  Ocean  Spectre  ” — a name  which  had,  afterwards, 
a sad  significance,  as  the  boy  (Sydney  Smith ; became  a 
sailor,  and  died  and  was  buried  at  sea  two  years  after  his 
father’s  death. 

The  letters  in  this  year  need  very  little  explanation.  In 
the  first  letter  to  Mrs.  Watson,  he  alludes  to  a sketch  which 
she  had  made  from  The  Battle  of  Life,”  and  had  sent  to 
Charles  Dickens,  as  a remembrance,  when  her  husband 
paid  a short  visit  to  Paris  in  this  winter. 

And  there  are  two  letters  to  Miss  Marguerite  Power,  the 
niece  of  the  Countess  of  Blessington — a lady  for  whom  he 
had  then,  and  until  her  death,  a most  affectionate  friend- 
ship and  respect,  for  the  sake  of  her  own  admirable  quali- 
ties, and  in  remembrance  of  her  delightful  association  with 
Gore  House,  where  he  was  a frequent  visitor.  For  Lady 
Blessington  he  had  a high  admiration  and  great  regard, 
and  she  was  one  of  his  earliest  appreciators ; and  Alfred, 
Comte  D’Orsay,  was  also  a much-loved  friend.  His  ^‘own 
marchioness,”  alluded  to  in  the  second  letter  to  Miss 
Power,  was  the  younger  and  very  charming  sister  of  his 
correspondent. 

We  much  regret  having  been  unable  to  procure  any  let- 
ters addressed  to  Mr.  Egg.  His  intimacy  with  him  began 
first  in  the  plays  of  this  year  ; but  he  became,  almost  im- 
mediately, one  of  the  friends  for  whom  he  had  an  especial 
affection  ; and  Mr.  Egg  was  a regular  visitor  at  his  house 
and  at  his  seaside  places  of  resort  for  many  years  after  this 
date. 

The  letter  to  Mr.  William  Sandys  has  reference  to  an 
intention  which  Charles  Dickens  had  entertained,  of  laying 


igS 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


the  scene  of  a story  in  Cornwall ; Mr.  Sandys,  himself  a 
Cornishman,  having  proposed  to  send  him  some  books  to 
help  him  as  to  the  dialect. 

{To  the  Hon.  Mrs-  Watson.^ 

Paris,  48,  Rue  de  Courcelles,  Jan.  2^th,  1847. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

I cannot  allow  your  wandering  lord  to  return  to  your — 
I suppose/^ arms’’  is  not  improper— arms,  then,  without 
thanking  you  in  half-a-dozen  words  for  your  letter,  and 
assuring  you  that  I had  great  interest  and  pleasure  in  its 
receipt,  and  that  I say  Amen  to  all  you  say  of  our  happy 
past  and  hopeful  future.  There  is  a picture  of  Lausanne 
— St.  Bernard — the  tavern  by  the  little  lake  between 
Lausanne  and  Vevay,  which  is  kept  by  that  drunken  dog 
whom  Haldimand  believes  to  be  so  sober — and  of  many 
other  such  scenes,  within  doors  and  without — that  rises  up 
to  my  mind  very  often,  and  in  the  quiet  pleasure  of  its 
aspect  rather  daunts  me,  as  compared  with  the  reality  of  a 
stirring  life  ; but,  please  God,  we  will  have  some  more 
pleasant  days,  and  go  up  some  more  mountains,  some- 
where, and  laugh  together,  at  somebody,  and  form  the 
same  delightful  little  circle  again,  somehow. 

I quite  agree  with  you  about  the  illustrations  to  the  lit- 
tle Christmas  book.  I was  delighted  with  yours.  Your 
good  lord  before-mentioned  will  inform  you  that  it  hangs 
up  over  my  chair  in  the  drawing-room  here  ; and  when 
you  come  to  England  (after  I have  seen  you  again  in 
Lausanne)  I will  show  it  you  in  my  little  study  at  home, 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


199 


quietly  thanking  you  on  the  bookcase.  Then  we  will  go 
and  see  some  of  Turner’s  recent  pictures,  and  decide  that 
question  to  Haldimand’s  utmost  confusion. 

You  will  find  Watson  looking  wonderfully  well,  I think. 
When  he  was  first  here,  on  his  way  to  England,  he  took  an 
extraordinary  bath,  in  which  he  was  rubbed  all  over  with 
chemical  compounds,  and  had  everything  done  to  him  that 
could  be  invented  for  seven  francs.  It  may  be  the  in- 
fluence of  this  treatment  that  I see  in  his  face,  but  I think 
it’s  the  prospect  of  coming  back  to  Elysee.  All  I can  say 
is,  that  when  I come  that  way,  and  find  myself  among 
those  friends  again,  I expect  to  be  perfectly  lovely — a kind 
of  Glorious  Apollo,  radiant  and  shining  with  joy. 

Kate  and  her  sister  send  all  kinds  of  love  in  this  hasty 
packet,  and  I am  always,  my  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Faithfully  yours. 

\_To  Rev.  Edward  Tag  art.'] 

Paris,  48,  Rue  de  Courcelles,  St.  Honors, 

Thursday y Jan.  2'^thy  1847. 

My  dear  Sir, 

Before  you  read  any  more,  I wish  you  would  take  those 
tablets  out  of  your  drawer,  in  which  you  have  put  a black 
mark  against  my  name,  and  erase  it  neatly.  I don’t  de- 
serve it,  on  my  word  I don’t,  though  appearances  are 
against  me,  I unwillingly  confess. 

I had  gone  to  Geneva,  to  recover  from  an  uncommon 
depression  of  spirits,  consequent  on  too  much  sitting  over 

Dombey  ” and  the  little  Christmas  book,  when  I received 


200 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


your  letter  as  I was  going  out  walking,  one  sunshiny,  windy 
day.  I read  it  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhone,  where  it  runs, 
very  blue  and  swift,  between  two  high  green  hills,  with 
ranges  of  snowy  mountains  filling  up  the  distance.  Its 
cordial  and  unaffected  tone  gave  me  the  greatest  pleasure 
— did  me  a world  of  good — set  me  up  for  the  afternoon, 
and  gave  me  an  evening’s  subject  of  discourse.  For  I 
talked  to  them  ” (that  is,  Kate  and  Georgy)  about  those 
bright  mornings  at  the  Peschiere,  until  bedtime,  and  threat- 
ened to  write  you  such  a letter  next  day  as  would — I don’t 
exactly  know  what  it  was  to  do,  but  it  was  to  be  a great 
letter,  expressive  of  all  kinds  of  pleasant  things,  and  per- 
haps the  most  genial  letter  that  ever  was  written. 

From  that  hour  to  this,  I have  again  and  again  and  again 
said,  I’ll  write  to-morrow,”  and  here  I am  to-day  full  of 
penitence — really  sorry  and  ashamed,  and  with  no  excuse 
but  my  writing-life,  which  makes  me  get  up  and  go  out, 
when  my  morning  work  is  done,  and  look  at  pen  and  iuk 
no  more  until  I begin  again. 

Besides  which,  I have  been  seeing  Paris— wandering  into 
hospitals,  prisons,  dead-houses,  operas,  theatres,  concert- 
rooms,  burial-grounds,  palaces,  and  wine-shops.  In  my 
unoccupied  fortnight  of  each  month,  every  description  of 
gaudy  and  ghastly  sight  has  been  passing  before  me  in  a 
rapid  panorama.  Before  that,  I had  to  come  here  from 
Switzerland,  over  frosty  mountains  in  dense  fogs,  and 
through  towns  with  walls  and  drawbridges,  and  without 
population,  or  anything  else  in  particular  but  soldiers  and 
mud.  I took  a flight  to  London  for  four  days,  and  went 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


201 


and  came  back  over  one  sheet  of  snow,  sea  excepted ; and 
I wish  that  had  been  snow  too.  Then  Forster  (who  is  , 
here  now,  and  begs  me  to  send  his  kindest  regards)  came 
to  see  Paris  for  himself,  and  in  showing  it  to  him,  away  I 
was  borne  again,  like  an  enchanted  rider.  In  short,  I have 
had  no  rest  in  my  play  ; and  on  Monday  I am  going  to 
work  again.  A fortnight  hence  the  play  will  begin  once 
more  ; a fortnight  after  that  the  work  will  follow  round,  and 
so  the  letters  that  I care  for  go  unwritten. 

Do  you  care  for  French  news  ? I hope  not,  because  I 
don’t  know  any.  There  is  a melodrama,  called  The 
French  Revolution,”  now  playing  at  the  Cirque,  in  the 
first  act  of  which  there  is  the  most  tremendous  represen- 
tation of  a people  that  can  well  be  imagined.  There  are 
wonderful  battles  and  so  forth  in  the  piece,  but  there  is 
a power  and  massiveness  in  the  mob  which  is  positively 
awful.  At  another  theatre,  Clarissa  Harlowe  ” is  still  the 
rage.  There  are  some  things  in  it  rather  calculated  to  as- 
tonish the  ghost  of  Richardson,  but  Clarissa  is  very  admi- 
rably played,  and  dies  better  than  the  original  to  my  think- 
ing ; but  Richardson  is  no  great  favourite  of  mine,  and 
never  seems  to  me  to  take  his  top-boots  off,  whatever  he 
does.  Several  pieces  are  in  course  of  representation,  in- 
volving rare  portraits  of  the  English.  In  one,  a servant, 
called  Tom  Bob,”  who  wears  a particularly  English 
waistcoat,  trimmed  with  gold  lace  and  concealing  his  an- 
kles, does  very  good  things  indeed.  In  another,  a Prime 
Minister  of  England,  who  has  ruined  himself  by  railway 
speculations,  hits  off  some  of  our  national  characteristics 


202 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


very  happily,  frequently  making  incidental  mention  of 
“ Vishmingster,’'  Regeenstreet,”  and  other  places  with 
which  you  are  well  acquainted.  Sir  Fakson  ” is  one  of 
the  characters  in  another  play — English  to  the  Core  ; ” 
and  I saw  a Lord  Mayor  of  London  at  one  of  the  small 
theatres  the  other  night,  looking  uncommonly  well  in  a 
stage-coachman's  waistcoat,  the  order  of  the  Garter,  and  a 
very  low-crowned  broad-brimmed  hat,  not  unlike  a dust- 
man. 

I was  at  Geneva  at  the  time  of  the  revolution.  The 
moderation  and  mildness  of  the  successful  party  were  be- 
yond all  praise.  Their  appeals  to  the  people  of  all  par- 
ties— printed  and  pasted  on  the  walls — have  no  parallel 
that  I know  of,  in  history,  for  their  real  good  sterling 
Christianity  and  tendency  to  promote  the  happiness  of 
mankind.  My  sympathy  is  strongly  with  the  Swiss  radi- 
cals. They  know  what  Catholicity  is  ; they  see,  in  some 
of  their  own  valleys,  the  poverty,  ignorance,  misery,  and 
bigotry  it  always  brings  in  its  train  wherever  it  is  triumph- 
ant ; and  they  would  root  it  out  of  their  children’s  way 
at  any  price.  I fear  the  end  of  the  struggle  will  be,  that 
some  Catholic  power  will  step  in  to  crush  the  dangerously 
well-educated  republics  (very  dangerous  to  such  neigh- 
bours) ; but  there  is  a spirit  in  the  people,  or  I very  much 
mistake  them,  that  will  trouble  the  Jesuits  there  many 
years,  and  shake  their  altar  steps  for  them. 

This  is  a poor  return  (I  look  down  and  see  the  end  of 
the  paper)  for  your  letter,  but  in  its  cordial  spirit  of  re- 
ciprocal friendship,  it  is  not  so  bad  a one  if  you  could 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCLCENS. 


203 


read  it  as  I do,  and  it  eases  my  mind  and  discharges  my 
conscience.  We-  are  coming  home,  please  God,  at  the 
end  of  March.  Kate  and  Georgy  send  their  best  regards 
to  you,  and  their  loves  to  Mrs.  and  Miss  Tagart  and  the 
children.  Our  children  wish  to  live  too  in  your  children’s 
remembrance.  You  will  be  glad,  I know,  to  hear  that 
Dombey  ’’  is  doing  wonders,  and  that  the  Christmas 
book  shot  far  ahead  of  its  predecessors.  I hope  you  will 
like  the  last  chapter  of  No.  5.  If  you  can  spare  me  a scrap 
of  your  handwriting  in  token  of  forgiveness,  do  ; if  not, 
I’ll  come  and  beg  your  pardon  on  the  31st  of  March. 

Ever  believe  me, 

Cordially  and  truly  yours. 


iTo  Miss  Dickens.^ 

Victoria  Hotel,  Euston  Square, 

Thursday^  March  cyth^  1847. 

My  dearest  Mamey, 

I have  not  got  much  to  say,  and  that’s  the  truth  ; but  I 
cannot  let  this  letter  go  into  the  post  without  wishing  you 
many  many  happy  returns  of  your  birthday,  and  sending 
my  love  to  Auntey  and  to  Katey,  and  to  all  of  them.  We 
were  at  Mrs.  Macready’s  last  night,  where  there  was  a 
little  party  in  honour  of  Mr.  Macready’s  birthday.  We 
had  some  dancing,  and  they  wished  very  much  that  you 
and  Katey  had  been  there  ; so  did  I and  your  mamma. 
We  have  not  got  back  to  Devonshire  Terrace  yet,  but  are 
living  at  an  hotel  until  Sir  James  Duke  returns  from  Scot- 


204 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


land,  which  will  be  on  Saturday  or  Monday.  I hope  when 
he  comes  home  and  finds  us  here  he  will  go  out  of  Devon- 
shire Terrace,  and  let  us  get  it  ready  for  you.  Roche  is 
coming  back  to  you  very  soon.  He  will  leave  here  on 
Saturday  morning.  He  says  he  hopes  you  will  have  a 
very  happy  birthday,  and  he  means  to  drink  your  health 
on  the  road  to  Paris. 

Always  your  affectionate. 

\To  Miss  ILogarthi\ 

Chester  Place,  Tuesday  Night, 

My  dearest  Georgy, 

So  far  from  having  got  through  my  agonies,'’  as  you 
benevolently  hope,  I have  not  yet  begun  them.  No,  on 
this  ninth  of  the  month  I have  not  yet  written  a single  slip. 
What  could  I do  ; house-hunting  at  first,  and  beleaguered 
all  day  to-day  and  yesterday  by  furniture  that  must  be 
altered,  and  things  that  must  be  put  aw^ay  ? My  wretch- 
edness, just  now,  is  inconceivable.  Tell  Anne,  by-the- 
bye  (not  with  reference  to  my  wretchedness,  but  in  con- 
nection with  the  arrangements  generally),  that  I can't  get 
on  at  all  without  her. 

If  Kate  has  not  mentioned  it,  get  Katey  and  Mamey  to 
write  and  send  a letter  to  Charley  ; of  course  not  hinting 
at  our  being  here.  He  wants  to  hear  from  them. 

Poor  little  Hall  is  dead,  as  you  will  have  seen,  I dare 
say,  in  the  paper.  This  house  is  very  cheerful  on  the 
drawing-room  floor  and  above,  looking  into  the  park  on 


i 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLC7CENS.  205 

one  side  and  Albany  Street  on  the  other.  Forster  is  mild. 
Maclise,  exceedingly  bald  on  the  crown  of  his  head.  Roche 
has  just  come  in  to  know  if  he  may  blow  datter  light.” 
Love  to  all  the  darlings.  Regards  to  everybody  else. 
Love  to  yourself.  Ever  affectionately. 


{.To  Miss  Dickens  and  Miss  Katey  Dickens^ 

148,  King’s  Road,  Brighton,  Monday,  May  2^th,  1847. 
My  dear  Mamey  and  Katey, 

I was  very  glad  to  receive  your  nice  letter.  I am  going 
to  tell  you  something  that  I hope  will  please  you.  It  is 
this  : I am  coming  to  London  Thursday,  and  I mean  to 
bring  you  both  back  here  with  me,  to  stay  until  we  all 
come  home  together  on  the  Saturday.  I hope  you  like 
this. 

Tell  John  to  come  with  the  carriage  to  the  London 
Bridge  Station,  on  Thursday  morning  at  ten  o’clock,  and 
to  wait  there  for  me.  I will  then  come  home  and  fetch  you. 

Mamma  and  Auntey  and  Charley  send  their  loves.  I 
send  mine  too,  to  Walley,  Spim,  and  Alfred,  and  Sydney. 

Always,  my  dears. 

Your  affectionate  Papa. 


\^To  Mr.  William  Sandy s.~\ 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace,  June  13M,  1847. 

Dear  Sir, 

Many  thanks  for  your  kind  note.  I shall  hope  to  see 
you  when  we  return  to  town,  from  which  we  shall  now  be 


2o6 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


absent  (with  a short  interval  in  next  month)  until  October. 
Your  account  of  the  Cornishmen  gave  me  great  pleasure  ; 
and  if  I were  not  sunk  in  engagements  so  far,  that  the 
crown  of  my  head  is  invisible  to  my  nearest  friends,  I 
should  have  asked  you  to  make  me  known  to  them.  The 
new  dialogue  I will  ask  you  by-and-by  to  let  me  see.  I 
have,  for  the  present,  abandoned  the  idea  of  sinking  a 
shaft  in  Cornwall. 

I have  sent  your  Shakesperian  extracts  to  Collier.  It  is 
a great  comfort,  to  my  thinking,  that  so  little  is  known 
concerning  the  poet.  It  is  a fine  mystery  ; and  I tremble 
every  day  lest  something  should  come  out.  If  he  had 
had  a Boswell,  society  wouldn't  have  respected  his  grave, 
but  would  calmly  have  had  his  skull  in  the  phrenological 
shop-windows. 

Believe  me. 

Faithfully  yours. 

\^To  Mr,  H,  P,  Smith, 1 

Chester  Place,  June  1847.  . 

My  dear  Smith, 

Haldimand  stayed  at  No.  7,  Connaught  Place,  Hyde 
Park,  when  I saw  him  yesterday.  But  he  was  going  to 
cross  to  Boulogne  to-day. 

The  young  Pariah  seems  pretty  comfortable.  He  is  of 
a cosmopolitan  spirit  I hope,  and  stares  with  a kind  of 
leaden  satisfaction  at  his  spoons,  without  afflicting  himself 
much  about  the  established  church. 

Affectionately  yours. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


207 


P.S. — I think  of  bringing  an  action  against  you  for  a 
new  sort  of  breach  of  promise,  and  calling  all  the  bishops 
to  estimate  the  damage  of  having  our  christening  post- 
poned for  a fortnight.  It  appears  to  me  that  I shall  get  a 
good  deal  of  money  in  this  way.  If  you  have  any  com- 
promise to  offer,  my  solicitors  are  Dodson  and  Fogg. 

[ To  Miss  Power 

Broadstairs,  Kent,  July  'ind,  1847. 

My  dear  Miss  Power, 

Let  me  thank  you,  very  sincerely,  for  your  kind  note 
and  for  the  little  book.  I read  the  latter  on  my  way 
down  here  with  the  greatest  pleasure.  It  is  a charming 
story  gracefully  told,  and  very  gracefully  and  worthily 
translated.  I have  not  been  ^better  pleased  with  a book 
for  a long  time. 

I cannot  say  I take  very  kindly  to  the  illustrations. 
They  are  a long  way  behind  the  tale  to  my  thinking.  The 
artist  understands  it  very  well,  I dare  say,  but  does  not 
express  his  understanding  of  it,  in  the  least  degree,  to  any 
sense  of  mine. 

Ah  Rosherville  ! That  fated  Rosherville,  when  shall  we 
see  it ! Perhaps  in  one  of  those  intervals  when  I am  up 
to  town  from  here,  and  suddenly  appear  at  Gore  House, 
somebody  will  propose  an  excursion  there,  next  day.  If 
anybody  does,  somebody  else  will  be  ready  to  go.  So  this 
deponent  maketh  oath  and  saith. 

I am  looking  out  upon  a dark  gray  sea,  with  a keen 


208 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


north-east  wind  blowing  it  in  shore.  It  is  more  like  late 
autumn  than  midsummer,  and  there  is  a howling  in  the 
air  as  if  the  latter  were  in  a very  hopeless  state  indeed. 
The  very  Banshee  of  midsummer  is  rattling  the  windows 
drearily  while  I write.  There  are  no  visitors  in  the  place 
but  children,  and  they  (my  own  included)  have  all  got  the 
hooping-cough,  and  go  about  the  beach  choking  incessantly. 
A miserable  wanderer  lectured  in  a library  last  night  about 
astronomy  ; but  being  in  utter  solitude  he  snuffed  out  the 
transparent  planets  he  had  brought  with  him  in  a box  and 
fled  in  disgust.  A white  mouse  and  a little  tinkling  box  of 
music  that  stops  at  come,”  in  the  melody  of  the  Buffalo 
Gals,  and  can’t  play  out  to-night,”  are  the  only  amuse- 
ments left. 

I beg  from  my  solitude  to  send  my  love  to  Lady  Bless- 
ington,  and  your  sister,  and^Count  D’Orsay.  I think  of 
taming  spiders,  as  Baron  Trenck  did.  There  is  one  in  my 
cell  (with  a speckled  body  and  twenty-two  very  decided 
knees)  who  seems  to  know  me. 

Dear  Miss  Power, 

Faithfully  yours  ever. 


iTo  Mr.  H.  P.  Smith:] 

Broadstairs,  July  1847. 

My  dear  Smith, 

I am  really  more  obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness  about 
The  Eagle  ” (as  I always  call  your  house)  than  I can 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


209 


say.  But  when  I come  to  town  to-morrow  week,  for  the 
Liverpool  and  Manchester  plays,  I shall  have  Kate  and 
Georgy  with  me.  Moreover  I shall  be  continually  going 
out  and  coming  in  at  unholy  hours.  Item,  the  timid  will 
come  at  impossible  seasons  to  go  over  ’’  their  parts  with 
the  manager.  Item,  two  Jews  with  musty  sacks  of  dresses 
will  be  constantly  coming  backwards  and  forwards.  Item, 
sounds  as  of  groans  ” will  be  heard  while  the  inimitable 
Boz  is  getting  ''  his  words — which  happens  all  day. 
Item,  Forster  will  incessantly  deliver  an  address  by  Bul- 
wer.  Item,  one  hundred  letters  per  diem  will  arrive  from 
Manchester  and  Liverpool  ; and  five  actresses,  in  very 
limp  bonnets,  with  extraordinary  veils  attached  to  them, 
will  be  always  calling,  protected  by  five  mothers. 

No,  no,  my  actuary.  Some  congenial  tavern  is  the  fit- 
ting scene  for  these  things,  if  I don’t  get  into  Devonshire 
Terrace,  whereof  I have  some  spark  of  hope.  Eagles 
couldn’t  look  the  sun  in  the  face  and  have  such  enormities 
going  on  in  their  nests. 

I am,  for  the  time,  that  obscene  thing,  in  short,  now 
chronicled  in  the  Marylebone  Register  of  Births — 

A Player, 

Though  still  yours. 


\To  Miss  Power?\ 

Broadstairs,  Kent,  Tuesday,  July  T4M,  1847. 
My  dear  Miss  Power, 

Though  I am  hopeless  of  Rosherville  until  after  the  28th 


210 


LETTERS  OF  CN ARLES  DICKENS. 


—for  am  I not  beckoned,  by  angels  of  charity  and  by  local 
committees,  to  Manchester  and  Liverpool,  and  to  all  sorts 
of  bedevilments  (if  I may  be  allowed  the  expression)  in 
the  way  of  managerial  miseries  in  the  meantime — here  I 
find  myself  falling  into  parenthesis  within  parenthesis,  like 
Lord  Brougham — yet  will  I joyfully  come  up  to  London 
on  Friday,  to  dine  at  your  house  and  meet  the  Dane,  whose 
Books  I honour,  and  whose — to  make  the  sentiment  com- 
plete, I want  something  that  would  sound  like  Bones,  I 
love  ! but  I can’t  get  anything  that  unites  reason  with 
beauty.  You,  who  have  genius  and  beauty  in  your  own 
person,  will  supply  the  gap  in  your  kindness. 

An  advertisement  in  the  newspapers  mentioning  the 
dinner-time  will  be  esteemed  a favour. 

Some  wild  beasts  (in  cages)  have  come  down  here  and 
involved  us  in  a whirl  of  dissipation.  A young  lady  in 
complete  armour — at  least,  in  something  that  shines  very 
much,  and  is  exceedingly  scaly — goes  into  the  den  of  fero- 
cious lions,  tigers,  leopards,  etc.,  and  pretends  to  go  to 
sleep  upon  the  principal  lion,  upon  which  a rustic  keeper, 
who  speaks  through  his  nose,  exclaims,  Behold  th^ 
abazid  power  of  woobad  ! ” and  we  all  applaud  tumultu- 
ously. 

Seriously,  she  beats  Van  Amburgh.  And  I think  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  must  have  her  painted  by  Landseer. 

My  penitent  regards  to  Lady  Blessington,  Count  D’Or- 
say,  and  my  own  Marchioness. 

Ever,  dear  Miss  Power, 

Very  faithfully  yours. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


21  I 


\^To  Miss  Dickens^ 

Broadstairs,  Wednesday,  a u^usf  4fh,  1S4J. 
My  dearest  Mamey, 

I am  delighted  to  hear  that  you  are  going  to  improve  in 
your  spelling,  because  nobody  can  write  properly  without 
spelling  well.  But  I know  you  will  learn  whatever  you 
are  taught,  because  you  are  always  good,  industrious,  and 
attentive.  That  is  what  I always  say  of  my  Mamey. 

The  note  you  sent  me  this  morning  is  a very  nice  one, 
and  the  spelling  is  beautiful. 

Always,  my  dear  Mamey, 

Your  affectionate  Papa. 


[To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready.^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Tuesday  Morning,  Nov.  23^/,  1847. 
My  dear  Macready, 

I am  in  the  whirlwind  of  finishing  a number  with  a crisis 
in  it  ; but  I cannot  fall  to  work  without  saying,  in  so  many 
words,  that  I feel  all  words  insufficient  to  tell  you  what  I 
think  of  you  after  a night  like  last  night.  The  multitudes 
of  new  tokens  by  which  I know  you  for  a great  man,  the 
swelling  within  me  of  my  love  for  you,  the  pride  I have  in 
you,  the  majestic  reflection  I see  in  you  of  all  the  passions 
and  affections  that  make  up  our  mystery,  throw  me  into  a 
strange  kind  of  transport  that  has  no  expression  but  in  a 
mute  sense  of  an  attachment,  which,  in  truth  and  fervency, 
is  worthy  of  its  subject. 


212 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


What  is  this  to  say  ? Nothing,  God  knows,  and  yet  I 
cannot  leave  it  unsaid. 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 

P.S. — I never  saw  you  more  gallant  and  free  than  in 
the  gallant  and  free  scenes  last  night.  It  was  perfectly 
captivating  to  behold  you.  However,  it  shall  not  interfere 
with  my  determination  to  address  you  as  Old  Parr  in  all 
future  time. 

\^To  Miss  Hogarth7[ 

Edinburgh,  Thursday^  December  i2,thy  1847. 
My  dear  Georgy, 

I take  up  my  pen,’>s  the  young  ladies  write,  to  let 
you  know  how  we  are  getting  on  ; and  as  I shall  be  obliged 
to  put  it  down  again  very  soon,  here  goes.  We  lived  with 
very  hospitable  people  in  a very  splendid  house  near  Glas- 
gow, and  were  perfectly  comfortable.  The  meeting  was 
the  most  stupendous  thing  as  to  numbers,  and  the  most 
beautiful  as  to  colours  and  decorations  I ever  saw.  The 
inimitable  did  wonders.  His  grace,  elegance,  and  elo- 
quence, enchanted  all  beholders.  Kate  didnt  go  ? having 
been  taken  ill  on  the  railroad  between  here  and  Glasgow. 

It  has  been  snowing,  sleeting,  thawing,  and  freezing, 
sometimes  by  turns,  and  sometimes  all  together,  since  the 
night  before  last.  Lord  Jeffrey’s  household  are  in  town 
here,  not  at  Craigcrook,  and  jogging  on  in  a cosy,  old- 
fashioned,  comfortable  sort  of  way.  We  have  some  idea 
of  going  to  York  on  Sunday,  passing  that  night  at  Alfred’s, 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


213 


and  coming  home  on  Monday  ; but  of  this,  Kate  will  advise 
you  when  she  writes,  which  she  will  do  to-morrow,  after  I 
shall  have  seen  the  list  of  railway  trains. 

She  sends  her  best  love.  She  is  a little  poorly  still,  but 
nothing  to  speak  of.  She  is  frightfully  anxious  that  her 
not  having  been  to  the  great  demonstration  should  be  kept 
a secret.  But  I say  that,  like  murder,  it  will  out,  and  that 
to  hope  to  veil  such  a tremendous  disgrace  from  the  gen- 
eral intelligence  is  out  of  the  question.  In  one  of  the 
Glasgow  papers  she  is  elaborately  described.  I rather 
think  Miss  Alison,  who  is  seventeen,  was  taken  for  her, 
and  sat  for  the  portrait. 

Best  love  from  both  of  us,  to  Charley,  Mamey,  Katey, 
Wally,  Chickenstalker,  Skittles,  and  the  Hoshen  Peck ; 
last,  and  not  least,  to  you.  We  talked  of  you  at  the  Mac- 

readys’  party  on  Monday  night.  I hope came  out 

lively,  also  that was  truly  amiable.  Finally,  that 

took  everybody  to  their  carriages,  and  that wept  a 

good  deal  during  the  festivities  ? God  bless  you.  Take 
care  of  yourself,  for  the  sake  of  mankind  in  general. 

Ever  affectionately,  dear  Georgy. 


1848. 

NARRATIVE. 

In  March  of  this  year  Charles  Dickens  went  with  his 
wife  for  two  or  three  weeks  to  Brighton,  accompanied  by 
Mrs.  Macready,  who  was  in  delicate  health,  and  we  give  a 


214 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


letter  to  Mr.  Macready  from  Brighton.  Early  in  the  year 

Dombey  and  Son  was  finished,  and  he  was  again  busy 
with  an  amateur  play,  with  the  same  associates  and  some 
new  adherents  ; the  proceeds  being,  at  first,  intended  to 
go  towards  the  curatorship  of  Shakespeare’s  house,  which 
post  was  to  be  given  to  Mr.  Sheridan  Knowles.  The  en- 
dowment was  abandoned,  upon  the  town  and  council  of 
Stratford-on-Avon  taking  charge  of  the  house  ; the  large 
sum  realized  by  the  performances  being  handed  over  to  Mr. 
Sheridan  Knowles.  The  play  selected  was  The  Merry 
AVives  of  Windsor  ; ” the  farce,  “ Love,  Law,  and  Physic.” 
There  were  two  performances  at  the  Haymarket  in  April, 
at  one  of  which  her  Majesty  and  the  Prince  Consort  were 
present  ; and  in  July  there  were  performances  at  Man- 
chester, Liverpool,  Birmingham,  Edinburgh,  and  Glasgow. 
Some  ladies  accompanied  the  strollers  ” on  this  theatri- 
cal provincial  tour,  and  Mrs.  Dickens  and  her  sister  were 
of  the  party.  Many  of  the  following  letters  bear  reference 
plays. 

In  this  summer  his  eldest  sister  Fanny  (Mrs.  Burnett) 
died,  and  there  are  sorrowful  allusions  to  her  illness  in 
several  of  the  letters. 

The  autumn  months  were  again  spent  at  Broadstairs, 
where  he  wrote  The  Haunted  Man,”  which  was  illustrated 
by  Mr.  Frank  Stone,  Mr.  Leech,  and  others.  At  the  end 
of  the  year  and  at  the  end  of  his  work,  he  took  another 
short  holiday  at  Brighton  with  his  wife  and  sister-in-law  ; 
and  the  letters  to  Mr.  Stone  on  the  subject  of  his  illustra- 
tions to  “ The  Haunted  Man  ” are  written  from  Brighton. 
The  first  letters  which  we  have  to  Mr.  Mark  Lemon  come 
here.  AV e regret  to  have  been  unable  to  procure  any  let- 
ters addressed  to  Mr.  Leech,  with  whom,  as  with  Mr. 
Lemon,  Charles  Dickens  was  very  intimately  associated  for 
many  years. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


215 


Also,  we  have  the  beginning  of  his  correspondence  with 
Mr.  Charles  Kent.  He  wrote  (an  unusual  thing  for  him 
to  do)  to  the  editor  of  The  Sun  newspaper,  begging  him  to 
thank  the  writer  of  a particularly  sympathetic  and  earnest 
review  of  Dombey  and  Son,”  which  appeared  in  The  Sun 
at  the  close  of  the  book.  Mr.  Charles  Kent  replied  in  his 
proper  person,  and  from  that  time  dates  a close  friendship 
and  constant  correspondence. 

With  the  letter  to  Mr.  Forster  we  give,  as  a note,  a let- 
ter which  Baron  Taiichnitz  published  in  his  edition  of 
Mr.  Forster’s  Life  of  Oliver  Goldsmith.” 

Mr.  Peter  Cunningham,  as  an  important  member  of  the 
Shakespeare’s  House  ” committee,  managed  the  ^^^theat- 
rical  part  of  this  Amateur  Provincial  Tour,  and  was  always 
pleasantly  connected  with  the  plays. 

The  book  alluded  to  in  the  last  letter  for  this  year,  to 
be  dedicated  to  Charles  Dickens’s  daughters  by  Mr.  Mark 
Lemon,  was  called  The  Enchanted  Doll.” 


\^To  Mr.  Charles  Babbage^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  February  261k,  1848. 

My  dear  Sir, 

Pray  let  me  thank  you  for  your  pamphlet. 

I confess  that  I am  one  of  the  unconvinced  grumblers, 
and  that  I doubt  the  present  or  future  existence  of  any 
government  in  England,  strong  enough  to  convert  the 
people  to  your  income-tax  principles.  But  I do  not  the 
less  appreciate  the  ability  with  which  you  advocate  them, 
nor  am  I the  less  gratified  by  any  mark  of  your  remem- 
brance. 


Faithfully  yours  always. 


2i6 


LETTERS  OF  CL/ARLES  DICKENS, 


\^To  Mr,  W,  C.  Macready.] 

Junction  House,  Brighton,  March  2nd^  1848. 
My  dear  Macready, 

We  have  migrated  from  the  Bedford  and  come  here, 
where  we  are  very  comfortably  (not  to  say  gorgeously) 
accommodated.  Mrs.  Macready  is  certainly  better  already, 
and  I really  have  very  great  hopes  that  she  will  come  back 
in  a condition  so  blooming,  as  to  necessitate  the  presenta- 
tion of  a piece  of  plate  to  the  undersigned  trainer. 

You  mean  to  come  down  on  Sunday  and  on  Sunday 
week.  If  you  don’t,  I shall  immediately  take  the  Victoria, 

and  start  Mr. , of  the  Theatre  Royal,  Haymarket,  as 

a smashing  tragedian.  Pray  don’t  impose  upon  me  this 
cruel  necessity. 

I think  Lamartine,  so  far,  one  of  the  best  fellows  in  the 
world  ; and  I have  lively  hopes  of  that  great  people  estab- 
lishing a noble  republic.  Our  court  had  best  be  careful 
not  to  overdo  it  in  respect  of  sympathy  with  ex-royalty  and 
ex-nobility.  These  are  not  times  for  such  displays,  as,  it 
strikes  me,  the  people  in  some  of  our  great  towns  would 
be  apt  to  express  pretty  plainly. 

However,  we’ll  talk  of  all  this  on  these  Sundays,  and 
Mr. shall  not  be  raised  to  the  pinnacle  of  fame. 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 

My  dear  Macready. 

[7h  the  Editor  of  The  Sun.] 

Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate,  Regent’s  Park, 

Friday^  April  14M,  1848. 

Private. 

Mr.  Charles  Dickens  presents  his  compliments  to  the 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS. 


217 


Editor  of  The  Sun,  and  begs  that  gentleman  will  have  the 
goodness  to  convey  to  the  writer  of  the  notice  of  Dombey 
and  Son,”  in  last  evening’s  paper,  Mr.  Dickens’s  warmest 
acknowledgments  and  thanks.  The  sympathy  expressed 
in  it  is  so  very  earnestly  and  unaffectedly  stated,  that  it  is 
particularly  welcome  and  gratifying  to  Mr.  Dickens,  and 
he  feels  very  desirous  indeed  to  convey  that  assurance  to 
the  writer  of  that  frank  and  genial  farewell. 


[7h  Mr.  W.  Charles  M.  Kent?^ 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate,  Regent’s  Park, 

April  1848. 

Dear  Sir, 

Pray  let  me  repeat  to  you  personally  what  I expressed 
in  my  former  note,  and  allow  me  to  assure  you,  as  an  illus- 
tration of  my  sincerity,  that  I have  never  addressed  a simi- 
lar communication  to  anybody  except  on  one  occasion. 

Faithfully  yours. 

iTo  Mr.  John  Forster?^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Saturday,  April  22nd,  1848 
My  dear  Forster,* 

I finished  Goldsmith  yesterday,  after  dinner,  having  read 
it  from  the  first  page  to  the  last  with  the  greatest  care  and 
attention. 


* LETTER  OF  BARON  TAUCHNITZ. 

Having  had  the  privilege  to  see  a letter  which  the  late  Mr.  Charles  Dickens 
wrote  to  the  author  of  this  work  upon  its  first  appearance,  and  which  there  was  no 


2I8 


LETTERS  OF  CE ARLES  DICLLENS. 


As  a picture  of  the  time,  I really  think  it  impossible  fo 
give  it  too  much  praise.  It  seems  to  me  to  be  the  very 
essence  of  all  about  the  time  that  I have  ever  seen  in 
biography  or  fiction,  presented  in  most  wise  and  humane 
lights,  and  in  a thousand  new  and  just  aspects.  I have 
never  liked  Johnson  half  so  well.  Nobody’s  contempt  for 
Boswell  ought  to  be  capable  of  increase,  but  I have  never 
seen  him  in  my  mind’s  eye  half  so  plainly.  The  introduc- 
tion of  him  is  quite  a masterpiece.  I should  point  to  that, 
if  I didn’t  know  the  author,  as  being  done  by  somebody 
with  a remarkably  vivid  conception  of  what  he  narrated, 
and  a most  admirable  and  fanciful  power  of  communicat- 
ing it  to  another.  All  about  Reynolds  is  charming ; and 
the  first  account  of  the  Literary  Club  and  of  Beauclerc  as 
excellent  a piece  of  description  as  ever  I read  in  my  life. 
But  to  read  the  book  is  to  be  in  the  time.  It  lives  again 
in  as  fresh  and  lively  a manner  as  if  it  were  presented  on 
an  impossibly  good  stage  by  the  very  best  actors  that  ever 
lived,  or  by  the  real  actors  come  out  of  their  graves  on 
purpose. 

intention  to  publish  in  England,  it  became  my  lively  wish  to  make  it  known  to  the 
readers  of  my  edition. 

I therefore  addressed  an  earnest  request  to  Mr.  Forster,  that  he  would  permit  the 
letter  to  be  prefixed  to  a reprint  not  designed  for  circulation  in  England,  where  I 
could  understand  his  reluctance  to  sanction  its  publication.  Its  varied  illustration 
of  the  subject  of  the  book,  and  its  striking  passages  of  personal  feeling  and  charac- 
ter, led  me  also  to  request  that  I might  be  allowed  to  present  it  in  facsimile. 

Mr.  Forster  complied  ; and  I am  most  happy  to  be  thus  enabled  to  give  to  my 
public,  on  the  following  pages,  so  attractive  and  so  interesting  a letter,  reproduced 
in  the  exact  form  in  which  it  was  written,  by  the  most  popular  and  admired  of 
writers — too  early  gone. 


Leipsic, 

May  23,  1873. 


TAUCHNITZ. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


219 


And  as  to  Goldsmith  himself,  and  his  life,  and  the 
tracing  of  it  out  in  his  own  writings,  and  the  manful  and 
dignified  assertion  of  him  without  any  sobs,  whines,  or  con- 
vulsions of  any  sort,  it  is  throughout  a noble  achievement, 
of  which,  apart  from  any  private  and  personal  affection  for 
you,  I think  (and  really  believe)  I should  feel  proud,  as 
one  who  had  no  indifferent  perception  of  these  books  of 
his — to  the  best  of  my  remembrance — when  little  more  than 
a child.  I was  a little  afraid  in  the  beginning,  when  he 
committed  those  very  discouraging  imprudences,  that  you 
Avere  going  to  champion  him  somewhat  indiscriminately  ; 
but  I very  soon  got  over  that  fear,  and  found  reason  in 
every  page  to  admire  the  sense,  calmness,  and  moderation 
with  which  you  make  the  love  and  admiration  of  the  reader 
cluster  about  him  from  his  youth,  and  strengthen  with  his 
strength — and  weakness  too,  which  is  better  still. 

I don’t  quite  agree  with  you  in  two  small  respects. 
First,  I question  very  much  whether  it  would  have  been  a 
good  thing  for  every  great  man  to  have  had  his  Boswell, 
inasmuch  as  I think  that  two  Boswells,  or  three  at  most, 
would  have  made  great  men  extraordinarily  false,  and 
would  have  set  them  on  always  playing  a part,  and  would 
have  made  distinguished  people  about  them  for  ever  rest- 
less and  distrustful.  I can  imagine  a succession  of  Bos- 
wells bringing  about  a tremendous  state  of  falsehood  in 
society,  and  playing  the  very  devil  with  confidence  and 
friendship.  Secondly,  I cannot  help  objecting  to  that' 
practice  (begun,  I think,  or  greatly  enlarged  by  Hunt)  of 
italicising  lines  and  words  and  whole  passages  in  extracts, 


220 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


without  some  very  special  reason  indeed.  It  does  appear 
to  be  a kind  of  assertion  of  the  editor  over  the  reader — 
almost  over  the  author  himself — which  grates  upon  me. 
The  author  might  almost  as  well  do  it  himself,  to  my 
thinking,  as  a disagreeable  thing  ; and  it  is  such  a strong 
contrast  to  the  modest,  quiet,  tranquil  beauty  of  the  De- 
serted Village,”  for  instance,  that  I would  almost  as  soon 
hear  the  town  crier  ” speak  the  lines.  The  practice 
always  reminds  me  of  a man  seeing  a beautiful  view,  and 
not  thinking  how  beautiful  it  is  half  so  much  as  what  he 
shall  say  about  it. 

In  that  picture  at  the  close  of  the  third  book  (a  most 
beautiful  one)  of  Goldsmith  sitting  looking  out  of  window 
at  the  Temple  trees,  you  speak  of  the  gray-eyed  ” rooks. 
Are  you  sure  they  are  gray-eyed  ” The  raven's  eye  is 
a deep  lustrous  black,  and  so,  I suspect,  is  the  rook's,  ex- 
cept when  the  light  shines  full  into  it. 

I have  reserved  for  a closing  word — though  I dont  mean 
to  be  eloquent  about  it,  being  far  too  much  in  earnest — 
the  admirable  manner  in  which  the  case  of  the  literary 
man  is  stated  throughout  this  book.  It  is  splendid.  I 
don't  believe  that  any  book  was  ever  written,  or  anything 
ever  done  or  said,  half  so  conducive  to  the  dignity  and 
honour  of  literature  as  The  Life  and  Adventures  of 
Oliver  Goldsmith,''  by  J.  F.,  of  the  Inner  Temple.  The 
gratitude  of  every  man  who  is  content  to  rest  his  station 
and  claims  quietly  on  literature,  and  to  make  no  feint  of 
living  by  anything  else,  is  your  due  for  evermore.  I have 
often  said,  here  and  there,  when  you  have  been  at  work 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCLCENS. 


221 


Upon  the  book,  that  I was  sure  it  would  be  ; and  I shall 
insist  on  that  debt  being  due  to  you  (though  there  will 
be  no  need  for  insisting  about  it)  as  long  as  I have  any 
tediousness  and  obstinacy  to  bestow  on  anybody.  Lastly,  I 
never  will  hear  the  biography  compared  with  Boswell’s  ex- 
cept under  vigorous  protest.  For  I do  say  that  it  is  mere 
folly  to  put  into  opposite  scales  a book,  however  amusing 
and  curious,  written  by  an  unconscious  coxcomb  like  that, 
and  one  which  surveys  and  grandly  understands  the  char- 
acters of  all  the  illustrious  company  that  move  in  it. 

My  dear  Forster,  I cannot  sufficiently  say  how  proud  I 
am  of  what  you  have  done,  or  how  sensible  I am  of  being 
so  tenderly  connected  with  it.  When  I look  over  this 
note,  I feel  as  if  I had  said  no  part  of  what  I think  ; and 
yet  if  I were  to  write  another  I should  say  no  more,  for  I 
can’t  get  it  out.  I desire  no  better  for  my  fame,  when 
my  personal  dustiness  shall  be  past  my  control  of  my  love 
of  order,  than  such  a biographer  and  such  a critic.  And 
again  I say,  most  solemnly,  that  literature  in  England  has 
never  had,  and  probably  never  will  have,  such  a champion 
as  you  are,  in  right  of  this  book. 

Ever  affectionately. 

[7b  Mr,  Mark  Lemon. ^ 

Wednesday,  May  3r7,  1848. 

My  dear  Lemon, 

Do  you  think  you  could  manage,  before  we  meet  to- 
morrow, to  get  from  the  musical  director  of  the  Haymar- 
ket  (whom  I don’t  know)  a note  of  the  overtures  he  pur- 


222 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


poses  playing  on  our  two  nights  ? I am  obliged  to  correct 
and  send  back  the  bill  proofs  to-morrow  (they  are  to  be 
brought  to  Miss  Kelly’s) — and  should  like,  for  complete- 
ness’ sake,  to  put  the  music  in.  Before  The  Merry 
Wives,”  it  must  be  something  Shakespearian.  Before  ‘‘An- 
imal Magnetism,”  something  very  telling  and  light — like 
“ Fra  Diavolo.” 

Wednesday  night’s  music  in  a concatenation  accord- 
ingly, and  jolly  little  polkas  and  quadrilles  between  the 
pieces,  always  beginning  the  moment  the  act-drop  is 
down.  If  any  little  additional  strength  should  be  really 
required  in  the  orchestra,  so  be  it. 

Can  you  come  to  Miss  Kelly’s  by  three  ? I should  like 
to  show  you  bills,  tickets,  and  so  forth,  before  they  are 
worked.  In  order  that  they  may  not  interfere  with  or  con- 
fuse the  rehearsal,  I have  appointed  Peter  Cunningham  to 
meet  me  there  at  three,  instead  of  half-past. 

Faithfully  ever. 

P.S. — If  you  should  be  disposed  to  chop  together  early, 
send  me  a line  to  the  Athenaeum.  I have  engaged  to  be 
with  Barry  at  ten,  to  go  over  the  Houses  of  Parliament. 
When  I have  done  so,  I will  go  to  the  club  on  the  chance 
of  a note  from  you,  and  would  meet  you  where  you  chose. 

' {To  Rev.  Jmnes  White. ^ 

Athen^um,  Thursday,  May  ^th,  1848. 

My  dear  White, 

I have  not  been  able  to  write  to  you  until  now.  I have 
lived  in  hope  that  Kate  and  I might  be  able  to  run  down 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


223 


to  see  you  and  yours  for  a day,  before  our  design  for  en- 
forcing the  Government  to  make  Knowles  the  first  custo- 
dian of  the  Shakespeare  house  should  come  off.  But  I 
am  so  perpetually  engaged  in  drilling  the  forces,  that  I see 
no  hope  of  making  a pleasant  expedition  to  the  Isle  of 
Wight  until  about  the  twentieth.  Then  I shall  hope  to  do 
so  for  one  day.  But  of  this  I will  advise  you  further  in 
due  course. 

My  doubts  about  the  house  you  speak  of  are  twofold. 
First,  I could  not  leave  town  so  soon  as  May,  having  affairs 
to  arrange  for  a sick  sister.  And  secondly,  I fear  Bonchurch 
is  not  sufficiently  bracing  for  my  chickens,  who  thrive  best 
in  breezy  and  cool  places.  This  has  set  me  thinking,  some- 
times of  the  Yorkshire  coast,  sometimes  of  Dover.  I would 
not  have  the  house  at  Bonchurch  reserved  for  me,  therefore. 
But  if  it  should  be  empty,  we  will  go  and  look  at  it  in  a 
body.  I reserve  the  more  serious  part  of  my  letter  until 
the  last,  my  dear  White,  because  it  comes  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart.  None  of  your  friends  have  thought  and 
spoken  oftener  of  you  and  Mrs.  White  than  we  have  these 
many  weeks  past.  I should  have  written  you,  but  was 
timid  of  intruding  on  your  sorrow.  What  you  say,  and 
the  manner  in  which  you  tell  me  I am  connected  with  it 
in  your  recollection  of  your  dear  child,  now  among  the 
angels  of  God,  gives  me  courage  to  approach  your  grief — 
to  say  what  sympathy  we  have  felt  with  it,  and  how  we 
have  not  been  unimaginative  of  these  deep  sources  of  con- 
solation to  which  you  have  had  recourse.  The  traveller 
who  journeyed  in  fancy  from  this  world  to  the  next  was 


224 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


Struck  to  the  heart  to  find  the  child  he  had  lost,  many 
years  before,  building  him  a tower  in  heaven.  Our  blessed 
Christian  hopes  do  not  shut  out  the  belief  of  love  and  re- 
membrance still  enduring  there,  but  irradiate  it  and  make 
it  sacred.  Who  should  know  that  better  than  you,  or  who 
more  deeply  feel  the  touching  truths  and  comfort  of  that 
story  in  the  older  book,  where,  when  the  bereaved  mother 
is  asked,  Is  it  well  with  the  child  ? she  answers,  “ It  is 
well.’^ 

God  be  with  you.  Kate  and  her  sister  desire  their 
kindest  love  to  yourself  and  Mrs.  White,  in  which  I heart- 
ily join. 

Being  ever,  my  dear  White, 

Your  affectionate  Friend. 

[ To  Mr,  W.  C.  Macready^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Wednesday,  May  loth,  1848. 
My  dear  Macready, 

We  are  rehearsing  at  the  Haymarket  now,  and  Lemon 
mentioned  to  me  yesterday  that  Webster  had  asked  him  if 
he  would  sound  Forster  or  me  as  to  your  intention  of  hav- 
ing a farewell  benefit  before  going  to  America,  and  whether 
you  would  like  to  have  it  at  the  Haymarket,  and  also  as  to 
its  being  preceded  by  a short  engagement  there.  I don't 
know  what  your  feelings  may  be  on  this  latter  head,  but 
thinking  it  well  that  you  may  know  how  the  land  lies  in 
these  seas,  send  you  this  ; the  rather  (excuse  Elizabethan 
phrase,  but  you  know  how  indispensable  it  is  to  me  under 
existing  circumstances) — the  rather  that  I am  thereto 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


225 


encouraged  by  thy  consort,  who  has  just  come  a-visiting 
here,  with  thy  fair  daughters.  Mistress  Nina  and  the  little 
Kate.  Wherefore,  most  selected  friend,  perpend  at  thy 
leisure,  and  so  God  speed  thee  ! 

And  no  more  at  present  from. 

Thine  ever. 

From  my  tent  in  my  garden. 


ANOTHER  BOBADIL  ” NOTE. 

I must  tell  you  this,  sir,  I am  no  general  man  ; but  for 
William  Shakespeare’s  sake  (you  may  embrace  it  at  what 
height  of  favour  you  please)  I will  communicate  with  you 
on  the  twenty-first,  and  do  esteem  you  to  be  a gentleman 
of  some  parts — of  a good  many  parts  in  truth.  I love  few 
words. 


At  Cobb’s,  a water-bearer. 
October  11th. 


[7h  Mr.  Peter  Cunningham?^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Thursday  Mornings  June  22nd,  1848. 
My  dear  Cunningham, 

I will  be  at  Miss  Kelly’s  to-morrow  evening,  from  seven 


226  LEl'TERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

to  eight,  and  shall  hope  to  see  you  there,  for  a little  con- 
versation, touching  the  railroad  arrangements. 

All  preparations  completed  in  Edinburgh  and  Glasgow. 
There  will  be  a great  deal  of  money  taken,  especially  at 
the  latter  place. 

I wish  I could  persuade  you,  seriously,  to  come  into 
training  for  Nym,  in  The  Merry  Wives.'’  He  is  never 
on  by  himself,  and  all  he  has  to  do  is  good,  without  being 
difficult.  If  you  could  screw  yourself  up  to  the  doing  of 
that  part  in  Scotland,  it  would  prevent  our  taking  some 
new  man,  and  would  cover  you  (all  over)  with  glory. 

Faithfully  yours  always. 

P.S. — I am  fully  persuaded  that  an  amateur  manager 
has  more  correspondence  than  the  Home  Secretary. 

\.To  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson.^ 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace,  Regent’s  Park, 

July  2^tk^  1848. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

I thought  to  have  been  at  Rockingham  long  ago  ! It 
seems  a century  since  I,  standing  in  big  boots  on  the  Hay- 
market  stage,  saw  you  come  into  a box  upstairs  and  look 
down  on  the  humbled  Bobadil,  since  then  I have  had  the 
kindest  of  notes  from  you,  since  then  the  finest  of  venison, 
and  yet  I have  not  seen  the  Rockingham  flowers,  and  they 
are  withering  I daresay. 

But  we  have  acted  at  Manchester,  Liverpool,  Birming- 
ham, Edinburgh,  and  Glasgow  ; and  the  business  of  all 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


227 


this — and  graver  and  heavier  daily  orxupation  in  going  to 
see  a dying  sister  at  Hornsey — has  so  worried  me  that  I 
have  hardly  had  an  hour,  far  less  a week.  I shall  never 
be  quite  happy  in  a theatrical  point  of  view,  until  you  have 
seen  me  play  in  an  English  version  of  the  French  piece, 
L’Homme  Blase,”  which  fairly  turned  the  head  of  Glas- 
gow last  Thursday  night  as  ever  was  ; neither  shall  I be 
quite  happy  in  a social  point  of  view,  until  I have  been  to 
Rockingham  again.  When  the  first  event  will  come  about 
Heaven  knows.  The  latter  will  happen  about  the  end  of 
the  November  fogs  and  wet  weather.  For  am  I not  going 
to  Broadstairs  now,  to  walk  about  on  the  sea-shore  (why 
don’t  you  bring  your  rosy  children  there  ?)  and  think  what 
is  to  be  done  for  Christmas  ! An  idea  occurs  to  me  all  at 
once.  I must  come  down  and  read  you  that  book  before 
it’s  published.  Shall  it  be  a bargain  ? Were  you  all  in 
Switzerland  ? I don’t  believe  I ever  was,  it  is  such  a dream 
now.  I wonder  sometimes  whether  I ever  disputed  with 
a Haldimand  ; whether  I ever  drank  mulled  wine  on  the 
top  of  the  Great  St.  Bernard,  or  was  jovial  at  the  bottom 
with  company  that  have  stolen  into  my  affection  ; whether 
I ever  was  merry  and  happy  in  that  valley  on  the  Lake  of 
Geneva,  or  saw  you  one  evening  (when  I didn’t  know  you) 
walking  down  among  the  green  trees  outside  Elysee,  arm- 
in-arm  with  a gentleman  in  a white  hat.  I am  quite  clear 
that  there  is  no  foundation  for  these  visions.  But  I should 
like  to  go  somewhere,  too,  and  try  it  all  over  again.  I 
don’t  know  how  it  is,  but  the  ideal  world  in  which  my  lot 
is  cast  has  an  odd  effect  on  the  real  one,  and  makes  it 


228 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


chiefly  precious  for  such  remembrances.  I get  quite  mel- 
ancholy over  them  sometimes,  especially  when,  as  now, 
those  great  piled-up  semicircles  of  bright  faces,  at  which  I 
have  lately  been  looking — all  laughing,  earnest  and  intent 
— have  faded  away  like  dead  people.  They  seem  a ghost- 
ly moral  of  everything  in  life  to  me. 

Kate  sends  her  best  love,  in  which  Georgy  would  as 
heartily  unite,  I know,  but  that  she  is  already  gone  to 
Broadstairs  with  the  children.  We  think  of  following  on 
Saturday  morning,  but  that  depends  on  my  poor  sister. 
Pray  give  my  most  cordial  remembrances  to  Watson,  and 
tell  him  they  include  a great  deal.  I meant  to  have  writ- 
ten you  a letter.  I don’t  know  what  this  is.  There  is  no 
word  for  it.  So,  if  you  will  still  let  me  owe  you  one,  I 
will  pay  my  debt,  on  the  smallest  encouragement,  from 
the  seaside.  Here,  there,  and  elsewhere,  I am,  with  per- 
fect truth,  believe  me, 

Very  faithfully  yours. 

[7b  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready.^ 

Broadstairs,  Kent,  Saturday y August  2(>thy  1848. 
My  dear  Macready, 

I was  about  to  write  to  you  when  I received  your  wel- 
come letter.  You  knew  I should  come  from  a somewhat 
longer  distance  than  this  to  give  you  a hearty  God-speed 
and  farewell  on  the  eve  of  your  journey.  What  do  you 
say  to  Monday,  the  fourth,  or  Saturday,  the  second  ? Fix 
either  day,  let  me  know  which  suits  you  best — at  what 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS,  22Q 

hour  you  expect  the  Inimitable,  and  the  Inimitable  will 
come  up  to  the  scratch  like  a man  and  a brother. 

Permit  me,  in  conclusion,  to  nail  my  colours  to  the 
mast.  Stars  and  stripes  are  so-so — showy,  perhaps  ; but 
my  colours  is  the  union  jack,  which  I am  told  has  the 
remarkable  property  of  having  braved  a thousand  years 
the  battle  and  the  breeze.  Likewise,  it  is  the  flag  of 
Albion — the  standard  of  Britain  ; and  Britons,  as  I am  in- 
formed, never,  never,  never — will — be — slaves  ! 

My  sentiment  is : Success  to  the  United  States  as  a 
golden  campaigning  ground,  but  blow  the  United  States 
to  *tarnal  smash  as  an  Englishman’s  place  of  residence. 
Gentlemen,  are  you  all  charged  ? 

Affectionately  ever. 


[ To  Miss  Dickens,  ] 


Devonshire  Terrace,  Friday^  Sept,  Stk,  1848. 

My  dearest  Mamey, 

We  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you  all  again,  and  we  hope 
you  will  be  very  glad  to  see  us.  Give  my  best  love  Jo 
dear  Katey,  also  to  Frankey,  Alley,  and  the^^jfl^^r^Y  fjp 
I have  had  a nice  note  from  Charley  says 

it  is  expected  at  school  that  when  Waltjj 
all  the  Miss  Kings  will  fall  in  love  wi| 
and  faint  away. 

Ever,  my  dear  Marri^ 

Most  affectionate 


230  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 

\^To  Mr,  Effingham  William  Wilson,] 

I,  Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate,  Regent’s  Park, 

JVov,  1848. 

A NATIONAL  THEATRE.” 

Sir, 

I beg  you  to  accept  my  best  thanks  for  your  pamphlet 
and  your  obliging  note.  That  such  a theatre  as  you 
describe  would  be  but  worthy  of  this  nation,  and  would 
not  stand  low  upon  the  list  of  its  instructors,  I have  no 
kind  of  doubt.  I wish  I could  cherish  a stronger  faith 
than  I have  in  the  probability  of  its  establishment  on  a 
rational  footing  within  fifty  years. 

Faithfully  yours. 


[7h  Mr,  Frank  Stone.] 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Tuesday ^ Nov,  2isty  1848. 
My  dear  Stone, 

I send  you  herewith  the  second  part  of  the  book,  which 
I hope  may  interest  you.  If  you  should  prefer  to  have  it 
read  to  you  by  the  Inimitable  rather  than  to  read  it,  I shall 
be  at  home  this  evening  (loin  of  mutton  at  half-past  five), 
and  happy  to  do  it.  The  proofs  are  full  of  printers’  errors, 
but  with  the  few  corrections  I have  scrawled  upon  it,  you 
will  be  able  to  make  out  what  they  mean. 

I send  you,  on  the  opposite  side,  a list  of  the  subjects 
already  in  hand  from  this  second  part.  If  you  should  see 
no  other  in  it  that  you  like  (I  think  it  important  that  you 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


231 


should  keep  Milly,  as  you  have  begun  with  her),  I will,  in 
a day  or  two,  describe  you  an  unwritten  subject  for  the 
third  part  of  the  book. 

Ever  faithfully. 

SUBJECTS  IN  HAND  FOR  THE  SECOND  PART. 

1.  Illuminated  page.  Tenniel.  Representing  Redlaw 
going  upstairs,  and  the  Tetterby  family  below. 

2.  The  Tetterby  supper.  Leech. 

3.  The  boy  in  Redlaw’s  room,  munching  his  food  and 
staring  at  the  fire. 


VTo  Mr.  Frank  Stone 

Brighton,  Thursday  Night,  Nov.  23^/,  1848. 
My  dear  Stone, 

We  are  unanimous. 

The  drawing,  of  Milly  on  the  chair  is  charming.  I 
cannot  tell  you  how  much  the  little  composition  and  ex- 
pression please  me.  Do  that,  by  all  means. 

I fear  she  must  have  a little  cap  on.  There  is  something 
coming  in  the  last  part,  about  her  having  had  a dead  child, 
which  makes  it  yet  more  desirable  than  the  existing  text 
does  that  she  should  have  that  little  matronly  sign  about 
her.  Unless  the  artist  is  obdurate  indeed,  and  then  he’ll 
do  as  he  likes. 

I am  delighted  to  hear  that  you  have  your  eye  on  her  in 
the  students’  room.  You  will  really,  pictorially,  make  the 
little  woman  whom  I love. 


232 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCLCENS. 


Kate  and  Georgy  send  their  kindest  remembrances.  I 
write  hastily  to  save  the  post. 

Ever,  my  dear  Stone, 

Faithfully  yours. 

\_To  Mr,  Frank  Stone ^ 

Bedford  Hotel,  Brighton,  Monday  Night,  Nov,  2^tk,  1848. 
My  dear  Stone, 

You  are  a trump,  emphatically  a TRUMP,  and  such 
are  my  feelings  towards  you  at  this  moment  that  I think 
(but  I am  not  sure)  that  if  I saw  you  about  to  place  a card 
on  a wrong  pack  at  Bibeck  (?),  I wouldn’t  breathe  a word 
of  objection. 

Sir,  there  is  a subject  I have  written  to-day  for  the  third 
part,  that  I think  and  hope  will  just  suit  you.  Scene, 
Tetterby’s.  Time,  morning.  The  power  of  bringing  back 
people’s  memories  of  sorrow,  wrong  and  trouble,  has  been 
given  by  the  ghost  to  Milly,  though  she  don’t  know  it  her- 
self. As  she  comes  along  the  street,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tet- 
terby  recover  themselves,  and  are  mutually  affectionate 
again,  and  embrace,  closing  rather  a good  scene  of  quarrel 
and  discontent.  The  moment  they  do  so,  Johnny  (who 
has  seen  her  in  the  distance  and  announced  her  before, 
from  which  moment  they  begin  to  recover)  cries  ‘‘  Here 
she  is!”  and  she  comes  in,  surrounded  by  the  little  Tet- 
terbys,  the  very  spirit  of  morning,  gladness,  innocence, 
hope,  love,  domesticity,  etc.  etc.  etc.  etc. 

I would  limit  the  illustration  to  her  and  the  children. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS, 


233 


which  will  make  a fitness  between  it  and  your  other  illus- 
trations, and  give  them  all  a character  of  their  own.  The 
exact  words  of  the  passage  I endorsed  on  another  slip  of 
paper.  Note.  There  are  six  boy  Tetterbys  present  (young 
’Dolphus  is  not  there),  including  Johnny  ; and  in  Johnny’s 
arms  is  Moloch,  the  baby,  who  is  a girl.  I hope  to  be  back 
in  town  next  Monday,  and  will  lose  no  time  in  reporting 
myself  to  you.  Don’t  wait  to  send  me  the  drawing  of  this. 
I know  how  pretty  she  will  be  with  the  children  in  your 
hands,  and  should  be  a stupendous  jackass  if  I had  any 
distrust  of  it. 

The  Duke  of  Cambridge  is  staying  in  this  house,  and 
they  are  driving  me  mad  by  having  Life  Guards  bands 
under  our  windows,  playing  our  overtures  ! I have  been 
at  work  all  day,  and  am  going  to  wander  into  the  theatre, 
where  (for  the  comic  man’s  benefit)  ^^two  gentlemen  of 
Brighton  ” are  performing  two  counts  in  a melodrama.  I 
was  quite  addle-headed  for  the  time  being,  and  think  an 
amateur  or  so  would  revive  me.  No  ’Tone  ! I don’t  in  the 
abstract  approve  of  Brighton.  I couldn’t  pass  an  autumn 
here  ; but  it  is  a gay  place  for  a week  or  so  ; and  when 
one  laughs  and  cries,  and  sulfers  the  agitation  that  some 
men  experience  over  their  books,  it’s  a bright  change  to 
look  out  of  window,  and  see  the  gilt  little  toys  on  horse- 
back going  up  and  down  before  the  mighty  sea,  and  think- 
ing nothing  of  it. 

Kate’s  love  and  Georgy’s.  They  say  you’ll  contradict 
every  word  of  this  letter. 


Faithfully  ever. 


234 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


[slip  of  paper  enclosed.] 

Hurrah  ! here’s  Mrs.  Williams  ! ” cried  Johnny. 

So  she  was,  and  all  the  Tetterby  children  with  her  ; and 
as  she  came  in,  they  kissed  her  and  kissed  one  another,  and 
kissed  the  baby  and  kissed  their  father  and  mother,  and 
then  ran  back  and  flocked  and  danced  about  her,  trooping 
on  with  her  in  triumph. 

(After  which,  she  is  going  to  say  : “What,  you  all 
glad  to  see  me  too  ! Oh,  how  happy  it  makes  me  to  find 
everyone  so  glad  to  see  me  this  bright  morning  ! ”) 

\To  Mr.  Mark  Lemon. ^ 

Bedford  Hotel,  Brighton,  Nov.  28M*,  1848. 
My  dear  Mark, 

I assure  you,  most  unaffectedly  and  cordially,  that  the 
dedication  of  that  book  to  Mary  and  Kate  (not  Catherine) 
will  be  a real  delight  to  me,  and  to  all  of  us.  I know  well 
that  you  propose  it  in  “ affectionate  regard,”  and  value 
and  esteem  it,  therefore,  in  a way  not  easy  of  expression. 

You  were  talking  of  “coming”  down,  and  now,  in  a 
mean  and  dodging  way,  you  write  about  “ sending  ” the 
second  act ! I have  a propogician  to  make.  Come  down 
on  Friday.  There  is  a train  leaves  London  Bridge  at  two 
— gets  here  at  four. . By  that  time  I shall  be  ready  to 
strike  work.  We  can  take  a little  walk,  dine,  discuss,  and 
you  can  go  back  in  good  time  next  morning.  I really 
think  this  ought  to  be  done,  and  indeed  must  be  done. 
Write  and  say  it  shall  be  done. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


235 


A little  management  will  be  required  in  dramatising  the 
third  part,  where  there  are  some  things  I describe  (for 
effect’s  sake,  and  as  a matter  of  art)  which  must  be  said 
on  the  stage.  Redlaw  is  in  a new  condition  of  mind, 
which  fact  must  be  shot  point-blank  at  the  audience,  I 
suppose,  ‘^as  from  the  deadly  level  of  a gun.”  By  any- 
body who  knew  how  to  play  Milly,  I think  it  might  be 
made  very  good.  Its  effect  is  very  pleasant  upon  me.  I 
have  also  given  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tetterby  another  innings. 

I went  to  the  play  last  night — fifth  act  of  Richard  the 
Third.  Richmond  by  a stout  lady^  with  a particularly 
well-developed  bust,  who  finished  all  the  speeches  with 
the  soubrette  simper.  Also,  at  the  end  of  the  tragedy  she 
came  forward  (still  being  Richmond)  and  said,  Ladies 
and  gentlemen,  on  Wednesday  next  the  entertainments 
will  be  for  My  benefit,  when  I hope  to  meet  your  appro- 
bation and  support.”  Then,  having  bowed  herself  into 
the  stage-door,  she  looked  out  of  it,  and  said,  winningly, 
Won’t  you  come  ? ” which  was  enormously  applauded. 

Ever  affectionately. 

1849. 

NARRATIVE. 

This,  as  far  as  correspondence  is  concerned,  was  an  un- 
eventful year.  In  the  spring  Charles  Dickens  took  one 
of  his  holidays  at  Brighton,  accompanied  by  his  wife  and 
sister-in-law  and  two  daughters,  and  they  were  joined  in 
their  lodgings  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leech.  From  Brighton 
he  writes  the  letter — as  a song — which  we  give,  to  Mr. 


236 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


Mark  Lemon,  who  had  been  ill,  asking  him  to  pay  them  a 
visit. 

In  the  summer,  Charles  Dickens  went  with  his  family, 
for  the  first  time,  to  Bonchurch,  Isle  of  Wight,  having 
hired  for  six  months  the  charming  villa.  Winterbourne, 
belonging  to  the  Rev.  James  White.  And  now  began  that 
close  and  loving  intimacy  which  for  the  future  was  to  exist 
between  these  two  families.  Mr.  Leech  also  took  a house 
at  Bonchurch.  All  through  this  year  Charles  Dickens  was 
at  work  upon  “ David  Copperfield.'' 

As  well  as  giving  eccentric  names  to  his  children  and 
friends,  he  was  also  in  the  habit  of  giving  such  names  to 
himself — that  of  Sparkler  ” being  one  frequently  used  by 
him. 

Miss  Joll  herself  gives  us  the  explanation  of  the  letter 
to  her  on  capital  punishment : “ Soon  after  the  appearance 
of  his  ^ Household  Words,’  some  friends  were  discussing 
an  article  in  it  on  ^ Private  Executions.’  They  contended 
that  it  went  to  prove  Mr.  Dickens  was  an  advocate  of 
capital  punishment.  I,  however,  took  a different  view  of 
the  matter,  and  ventured  to  write  and  inquire  his  views 
on  the  subject,  and  to  my  letter  he  sent  me  a courteous 
reply.” 


[To  Mr.  Dudley  Costello.'] 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Friday  Night,  Jan.  2M,  1849. 
My  dear  Costello, 

I am  desperate  ! Engaged  in  links  of  adamant  to  a 
monster  in  human  form  ” — a remarkable  expression  I 
think  I remember  to  have  once  met  with  in  a newspaper 
— whom  I encountered  at  Franconi’s,  whence  I have  just 
returned,  otherwise  I would  have  done  all  three  things 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


237 


right  heartily  and  with  my  accustomed  sweetness.  Think 
of  me  another  time  when  chops  are  on  the  carpet  (figura- 
tively speaking),  and  see  if  I won’t  come  and  eat  ’em  ! 

Ever  faithfully  yours. 

P.S. — I find  myself  too  despondent  for  the  flourish. 

\To  Miss  Dickens i\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Tuesday  Night,  Feb.  2^th,  1849. 
My  dearest  Mamey, 

I am  not  engaged  on  the  evening  of  your  birthday.  But 
even  if  I had  an  engagement  of  the  most  particular  kind, 
I should  excuse  myself  from  keeping  it,  so  that  I might 
have  the  pleasure  of  celebrating  at  home,  and  among  my 
children,  the  day  that  gave  me  such  a dear  and  good 
daughter  as  you. 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 

[To  Mr.  Clarkson  Stanfield^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  May  1849. 
My  dear  Stanfield, 

No — no — no  ! Murder,  murder  ! Madness  and  mis- 
conception ! Any  one  of  the  subjects — not  the  whole.  Oh, 
blessed  star  of  early  morning,  what  do  you  think  I am 
made  of,  that  I should,' on  the  part  of  any  man,  prefer  such 
a pig-headed,  calf-eyed,  donkey-eared,  imp-hoofed  request ! 

Says  my  friend  to  me,  ^^Will  you  ask  your  friend,  Mr. 
Stanfield,  what  the  damage  of  a little  picture  of  that  size 
would  be,  that  I may  treat  myself  with  the  same,  if  I can 


238  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 

afford  it  ? Says  I,  I will.”  Says  he,  Will  you  suggest 
that  I should  like  it  to  be  one  of  those  subjects  ? ” Says  I, 
will.” 

I am  beating  my  head  against  the  door  with  grief  and 
frenzy,  and  I shall  continue  to  do  so,  until  I receive  your 
answer. 

Ever  heartily  yours. 

The  Misconceived  One. 


{.To  Mr,  Frank  Stone^ 

Devonshire,  Terrace,  Monday,  June  ^th,  1849. 
My  dear  Stone, 

Leech  and  Sparkle  having  promised  their  ladies  to  take 
them  to  Ascot,  and  having  failed  in  their  truths,  propoge 
to  take  them  to  Greenwich  instead,  next  Wednesday. 
Will  that  alteration  in  the  usual  arrangements  be  agree- 
able to  Gaffin,  S.  ? If  so,  the  place  of  meeting  is  the 
Sparkler’s  Bower,  and  the  hour,  one  exactly. 

Ever  yours. 


[ To  Mrs,  Charles  Dickens 

Shanklin,  Isle  of  Wight,  Monday  Night,  June  16th,  1849. 
My  dear  Kate, 

I have  but  a moment.  Just  got  back  and  post  going 
out.  I have  taken  a most  delightful  and  beautiful  house, 
belonging  to  White,  at  Bonchurch  ; cool,  airy,  private 
bathing,  everything  delicious.  I think  it  is  the  prettiest 
place  I ever  saw  in  my  life,  at  home  or  abroad.  Anne 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


239 


may  begin  to  dismantle  Devonshire  Terrace.  I have  ar- 
ranged for  carriages,  luggage,  and  everything. 

The  man  with  the  post-bag  is  swearing  in  the  passage. 

Ever  affectionately. 

P.S. — A waterfall  on  the  grounds,  which  I have  arranged 
with  a carpenter  to  convert  into  a perpetual  shower-bath. 

[ To  Mr.  Mark  Lemon.  ] 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Monday,  June  2^th,  1849. 
My  dear  Lemon, 

I am  very  unwilling  to  deny  Charley  the  pleasure  you 
so  kindly  offer  him.  But  as  it  is  just  the  close  of  the  half- 
year  when  they  are  getting  together  all  the  half-year's  work 
— and  as  that  day's  pleasure  would  weaken  the  next  day's 
duty,  I think  I must  be  “ more  like  an  ancient  Roman  than 

a " Sparkler,  and  that  it  will  be  wisest  in  me  to  say 

nothing  about  it. 

Get  a clean  pocket-handkerchief  ready  for  the  close  of 
Copperfield  " No.  3 ; simple  and  quiet,  but  very  natu- 
ral and  touching." — Evening  Bore. 

Ever  affectionately. 

NEW  SONG. 

Tune — “ Lesbia  hath  a beaming  eye.” 

I. 

Lemon  is  a little  hipped, 

And  this  is  Lemon’s  true  position  ; 

He  is  not  pale,  he’s  not  white-lipped, 

Yet  wants  a little  fresh  condition. 


240 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


Sweeter  ’tis  to  gaze  upon 

Old  ocean’s  rising,  falling  billows, 

Than  on  the  houses  every  one. 

That  form  the  street  called  Saint  Anne’s  Willers. 
Oh,  my  Lemon,  round  and  fat. 

Oh,  my  bright,  my  right,  my  tight  ’un. 
Think  a little  what  you’re  at — 

Don’t  stay  at  home,  but  come  to  Brighton  ! 


Lemon  has  a coat  of  frieze. 

But  all  so  seldom  Lemon  wears  it, 

That  it  is  a prey  to  fleas. 

And  ev’ry  moth  that’s  hungry  tears  it. 

Oh,  that  coat’s  the  coat  for  me. 

That  braves  the  railway  sparks  and  breezes, 

Leaving  every  engine  free 

To  smoke  it,  till  its  owner  sneezes  ! 

Then  my  Lemon,  round  and  fat, 

L.,  my  bright,  my  right,  my  tight  ’un. 

Think  a little  what  you’re  at — 

On  Tuesday  first,  come  down  to  Brighton  ! 

T.  SparkleRo 


Also  signed, 

Catherine  Dickens, 
Annie  Leech, 
Georgina  Hogarth, 
Mary  Dickens, 
Katie  Dickens, 
John  Leech. 


[ To  Rev,  James  White, \ 

Winterbourne,  Smtday  Evenings  Sept,  23;"^/,  1849. 
My  dear  White, 

I have  a hundred  times  at  least  wanted  to  say  to  you 
how  good  I thought  those  papers  in  Blackwood  '' — how 
excellent  their  purpose,  and  how  delicately  and  charm- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


241 


ingly  worked  out.  Their  subtle  and  delightful  humour, 
and  their  grasp  of  the  whole  question,  were  something 
more  pleasant  to  me  than  I can  possibly  express. 

How  comes  this  lumbering  Inimitable  to  say  this,  on 
this  Sunday  night  of  all  nights  in  the  year  ? ” you  natur- 
ally ask.  Now  hear  the  Inimitable’s  honest  avowal  ! I 
make  so  bold  because  I heard  that  Morning  Service  bet- 
ter read  this  morning  than  ever  I have  heard  it  read  in  my 
life.  And  because — for  the  soul  of  me — I cannot  separ- 
ate the  two  things,  or  help  identifying  the  wise  and  genial 
man  out  of  church  with  the  earnest  and  unaffected  man 
in  it.  Midsummer  madness,  perhaps,  but  a madness  I 
hope  that  will  hold  us  true  friends  for-  many  and  many  a 
year  to  come.  The  madness  is  over  as  soon  as  you  have 
burned  this  letter  (see  the  history  of  the  Gunpowder  Plot), 
but  let  us  be  friends  much  longer  for  these  reasons  and 
many  included  in  them  not  herein  expressed. 

Affectionately  always. 


[ To  Miss  J oil ^ 

Rockingham  Castle,  Northamptonshire, 

Nov.  2'ith,  1849. 

Mr.  Charles  Dickens  presents  his  compliments  to  Miss 
Joll.  He  is,  on  principle,  opposed  to  capital  punishment, 
but  believing  that  many  earnest  and  sincere  people  who 
are  favourable  to  its  retention  in  extreme  cases  would 
unite  in  any  temperate  effort  to  abolish  the  evils  of  public 
executions,  and  that  the  consequences  of  public  executions 


II 


242 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCICENS. 


are  disgraceful  and  horrible,  he  has  taken  the  course  with 
which  Miss  Joll  is  acquainted  as  the  most  hopeful,  and  as 
one  undoubtedly  calculated  to  benefit  society  at  large. 

[7h  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson.^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Friday  Nighty  Nov.  30M,  1849. 

A Quarter-past  Ten. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Plunged  in  the  deepest  gloom,  I write  these  few  words 
to  let  you  know  that,  just  now,  when  the  bell  was  striking 
ten,  I drank  to 

H.  E.  R.! 


and  to  all  the  rest  of  Rockingham  ; as  the  wine  went  down 
my  throat,  I felt  distinctly  that  it  was  “ changing  those 
thoughts  to  madness.” 

On  the  way  here  I was  a terror  to  my  companions,. and 
I am  at  present  a blight  and  mildew  on  my  home. 

Think  of  me  sometimes,  as  I shall  long  think  of  our 
glorious  dance  last  night.  Give  my  most  affectionate  re- 
gards to  Watson,  and  my  kind  remembrances  to  all  who 
remember  me,  and  believe  me. 

Ever  faithfully  yours. 

P.S. — I am  in  such  an  incapable  state,  that  after  execut- 
ing the  foregoing  usual  flourish  I swooned,  and  remained 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


243 


for  some  time  insensible.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! Why  was  I ever 
restored  to  consciousness  ! ! ! 

P.P.S.— Changing  ” those  thoughts  ought  to  be  driv- 
ing.’' But  my  recollection  is  incoherent  and  my  mind 
wanders. 


\^To  M.  Cerjat^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Saturday,  Dec,  2gt/i,  1849. 
My  dear  Cerjat, 

I received  your  letter  at  breakfast-time  this  morning 
with  a pleasure  my  eloquence  is  unable  to  express  and 
your  modesty  unable  to  conceive.  It  is  so  delightful  to 
be  remembered  at  this  time  of  the  year  in  your  house 
where  we  have  been  so  happy,  and  in  dear  old  Lausanne, 
that  we  always  hope  to  see  again,  that  I can’t  help  pushing 
away  the  first  page  of  Copperfield  ” No.  10,  now  staring 
at  me  with  what  I may  literally  call  a blank  aspect,  and 
plunging  energetically  into  this  reply. 

What  a strange  coincidence  that  is  about  Blunderstone 
House  ! Of  all  the  odd  things  I ever  heard  (and  their 
name  is  Legion),  I think  it  is  the  oddest.  I went  down 
into  that  part  of  the  country  on  the  7th  of  January  last 
year,  when  I was  meditating  the  story,  and  chose  Blunder- 
stone  for  the  sound  of  its  name.  I had  previously  observed 
much  of  what  you  say  about  the  poor  girls.  In  all  you 
suggest  with  so  much  feeling  about  their  return  to  virtue 
being  cruelly  cut  off,  I concur  with  a sore  heart.  I have 
been  turning  it  over  in  my  mind  for  some  time,  and  hope, 
in  the  history  of  Little  Em’ly  (who  mus^  fall — there  is  no 


244 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


hope  for  her),  to  put  it  before  the  thoughts  of  people  in  a 
new  and  pathetic  way,  and  perhaps  to  do  some  good.  You 
will  be  glad  to  hear,  I know,  that  Copperfield  ” is  a great 
success.  I think  it  is  better  liked  than  any  of  my  other 
books. 

We  had  a most  delightful  time  at  Watsons'  (for  both  of 
them  we  have  preserved  and  strengthened  a real  affection), 
and  were  the  gayest  of  the  gay.  There  was  a Miss  Boyle 
staying  in  the  house,  who  is  an  excellent  amateur  actress, 
and  she  and  I got  up  some  scenes  from  The  School  for 
Scandal  ” and  from  Nickleby,"  with  immense  success. 
We  played  in  the  old  hall,  with  the  audience  filled  up  and 
running  over  with  servants.  The  entertainments  concluded 
with  feats  of  legerdemain  (for  the  performance  of  which  I 
have  a pretty  good  apparatus,  collected  at  divers  times  and 
in  divers  places),  and  we  then  fell  to  country  dances  of  a 
most  frantic  description,  and  danced  all  night.  We  often 
spoke  of  you  and  Mrs.  Cerjat  and  of  Haldimand,  and 
wished  you  were  all  there.  Watson  and  I have  some  fifty 
times  registered  a vow " (like  O’Connell)  to  come  to 
Lausanne  together,  and  have  even  settled  in  what  month 
and  week.  Something  or  other  has  always  interposed  to 
prevent  us  ; but  I hope,  please  God,  most  certainly  to  see 
it  again,  when  my  labours-Copperfieldian  shall  have  ter- 
minated. 

You  have  no  idea  what  the  hanging  of  the  Mannings 
really  was.  The  conduct  of  the  people  was  so  indescrib- 
ably frightful,  that  I felt  for  some  time  afterwards  almost 
as  if  I were  living  in  a city  of  devils.  I feel,  at  this  hour, 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


245 


as  if  I never  could  go  near  the  place  again.  My  letters 
have  made  a great  to-do,  and  led  to  a great  agitation  of 
the  subject ; but  I have  not  a confident  belief  in  any 
change  being  made,  mainly  because  the  total  abolition- 
ists are  utterly  reckless  and  dishonest  (generally  speaking), 
and  would  play  the  deuce  with  any  such  proposition  in 
Parliament,  unless  it  were  strongly  supported  by  the  Gov- 
ernment, which  it  would  certainly  not  be,  the  Whig  motto 
(in  office)  being  laissez  aller.''  I think  Peel  might  do  it 
if  he  came  in.  Two  points  have  occurred  to  me  as  being 
a good  commentary  to  the  objections  to  my  idea.  The 
first  is  that  a most  terrific  uproar  was  made  when  the  hang- 
ing processions  were  abolished,  and  the  ceremony  shrunk 
from  Tyburn  to  the  prison  door.  The  second  is  that,  at 
this  very  time,  under  the  British  Government  in  New  South 
Wales,  executions  take  place  within  the  prison  walls.,  with 
decidedly  improved  results.  (I  am  waiting  to  explode 
this  fact  on  the  first  man  of  mark  who  gives  me  the  oppor- 
tunity.) 

Unlike  you,  we  have  had  no  marriages  or  giving  in  mar- 
riage here.  We  might  have  had,  but  a certain  young  lady, 
whom  you  know,  is  hard  to  please.  The  children  are  all 
well,  thank  God  ! Charley  is  going  to  Eton  the  week  after 
next,  and  has  passed  a first-rate  examination.  Kate  is 
quite  well,  and  unites  with  me  and  Georgina  in  love  to  you 
and  Mrs.  Cerjat  and  Haldimand,  whom  I would  give  a good 
deal  (tell  him)  to  have  several  hours’  contradiction  of  at 
his  own  table.  Good  heavens,  how  obstinate  we  would 
both  be  ! I see  him  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  with  his 


246  LETTERS  OF  C/LA  RLE  S DLCKENS, 


right  forefinger  out,  and  saying,  “ Good  God  ! ” in  reply 
to  some  proposition  of  mine,  and  then  laughing. 

All  in  a moment  a feeling  comes  over  me,  as  if  you  and 
I have  been  still  talking,  smoking  cigars  outside  the  inn 
at  Martigny,  the  piano  sounding  inside,  and  Lady  Mary 
Taylour  singing.  I look  into  my  garden  (which  is  cov- 
ered with  snow)  rather  dolefully,  but  take  heart  again,  and 
look  brightly  forward  to  another  expedition  to  the  Great 
St.  Bernard,  when  Mrs.  Cerjat  and  I shall  laugh  as  I fancy 
I have  never  laughed  since,  in  one  of  those  one-sided 
cars  ; and  when  we  shall  again  learn  from  Haldimand,  in 
a little  dingy  cabaret,  at  lunch-time,  how  to  secure  a door 
in  travelling  (do  you  remember  ?)  by  balancing  a chair 
against  it  on  its  two  hind-legs. 

I do  hope  that  we  may  all  come  together  again  once 
more,  while  there  is  a head  of  hair  left  among  us  ; and  in 
this  hope  remain,  my  dear  Cerjat, 

Your  faithful  Friend. 

1850. 

NARRATIVE. 

In  the  spring  Charles  Dickens  took  a short  holiday 
again,  with  his  wife  and  sister-in-law,  at  Brighton,  from 
whence  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Wills,  on  Household  Words  ’’ 
business.  The  first  number  of  this  journal  appeared  on 
the  30th  March. 

This  autumn  he  succeeded,  for  the  first  time,  in  getting 
possession  of  the  Fort  House,’’  Broadstairs,  on  which  he 
had  always  set  his  affections.  He  was  hard  at  work  on 
the  closing  numbers  of  David  Copperfield  ” during  all 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS.  247 

the  summer  and  autumn.  The  family  moved  to  Broad- 
stairs  in  July,  but  as  a third  daughter  was  born  in  August, 
they  were  not  joined  by  Mrs.  Dickens  until  the  end  of  Sep- 
tember. David  Copperfield  ” was  finished  in  October. 

The  beginning  of  his  correspondence  with  Mrs.  Gaskell 
is  in  his  asking  her  to  contribute  to  Household  Words,” 
which  she  did  from  the  first  number,  and  very  frequently 
afterwards  both  to  Household  Words  ” and  All  the 
Year  Round.” 

The  letter  to  Mr.  David  Roberts,  R.A.,  is  one  thanking 
him  for  a remembrance  of  his  (Mr.  Roberts’s)  travels  in 
the  East — a picture  of  a ‘‘  Simoom  in  the  Desert,”  which 
was  one  of  Charles  Dickens’s  most  highly  prized  posses- 
sions. 

A letter  to  Mr.  Sheridan  Knowles  contains  allusions 
which  we  have  no  means  of  explaining,  but  we  publish  it, 
as  it  is  characteristic,  and  addressed  to  a literary  celeb- 
rity. Its  being  inscribed  to  Daddy  ” Knowles  illustrates 
a habit  of  Charles  Dickens — as  does  a letter  later  in  this 
year  to  Mr.  Stone,  beginning,  My  dear  P.” — of  giving 
nicknames  to  the  friends  with  whom  he  was  on  the  most 
affectionate  and  intimate  terms.  Mr.  Stone — especially 
included  in  this  category — was  the  subject  of  many  such 
names  ; Pump,”  or  Pumpion,”  being  one  by  which  he 
was  frequently  addressed — a joke  as  good-humouredly 
and  gladly  received  as  it  was  kindly  and  pleasantly  in- 
tended. 

There  were  no  public  amateur  theatricals  this  year  ; but 
in  November,  the  greater  part  of  the  amateur  company 
played  for  three  nights  at  Knebworth  Park,  as  the  guests 
of  Sir  Edward  Bulwer  Lytton  (afterwards  Lord  Lytton), 
who  entertained  all  his  county  neighbours  to  witness  the 
performances.  The  play  was  Every  Man  in  his  Hu- 
mour,” and  farces,  varied  each  night. 


248  LETTERS  OF  CE ARLES  DLCKENS. 


This  year  we  have  our  first  letter  to  Miss  Mary  Boyle,  a 
cousin  of  Mrs.  Watson,  well  known  as  an  amateur  actress 
and  an  accomplished  lady.  Miss  Boyle  was  to  have  acted 
with  the  amateur  company  at  Knebworth,  but  was  pre- 
vented by  domestic  affliction.  Early  in  the  following  year 
there  was  a private  play  at  Rockingham  Castle,  when  Miss 
Boyle  acted  with  Charles  Dickens,  the  play  being  ^‘Used 
Up,”  in  which  Mrs.  Dickens  also  acted  ; and  the  farce. 
Animal  Magnetism,”  in  which  Miss  Boyle  and  Miss  Ho- 
garth played.  The  letters  to  Mrs.  Watson  in  this  year 
refer  chiefly  to  the  preparations  for  the  play  in  her  house. 

The  accident  mentioned  in  the  letter  addressed  to  Mr. 
Henry  Bicknell  (son-in-law  of  Mr.  David  Roberts,  R.A., 
and  a much-esteemed  friend  of  Charles  Dickens)  was  an 
accident  which  happened  to  Mrs.  Dickens,  while  rehears- 
ing at  a theatre.  She  fell  through  a trap-door,  spraining 
her  ankle  so  badly  as  to  be  incapacitated  from  taking  her 
part  in  the  theatricals  at  Knebworth. 


[Zh  Mr.  David  Roberts ^ R.A.^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  January  '^rd,  1850. 
My  dear  Roberts, 

I am  more  obliged  to  you  than  I can  tell  you  for  the 
beautiful  mark  of  your  friendly  remembrance  which  you 
have  sent  me  this  morning.  I shall  set  it  up  among  my 
household  gods  with  pride.  It  gives  me  the  highest  grati- 
fication, and  I beg  you  to  accept  my  most  cordial  and  sin- 
cere thanks.  A little  bit  of  the  tissue  paper  was  sticking 
to  the  surface  of  the  picture,  and  has  slightly  marked  it. 
It  requires  but  a touch,  as  one  would  dot  an  i ” or  cross 
a ‘‘  t,”  to  remove  the  blemish  ; but  as  I cannot  think  of  a 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  249 

recollection  so  full  of  poetry  being  touched  by  any  hand 
but  yours,  I have  told  Green  the  framer,  whenever  he 
shall  be  on  his  way  with  it,  to  call  on  you  by  the  road.  I 
enclose  a note  from  Mrs.  Dickens,  which  I hope  will  im- 
press you  into  a country  dance,  with  which  we  hope  to 
dismiss  Christmas  merrily. 

Ever,  my  dear  Roberts, 

Faithfully  yours. 

\To  Mr.  James  Sheridan  Knowles^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  January  2>rd^  1850. 
My  dear  good  Knowles, 

Many  happy  New  Years  to  you,  and  to  all  who  are  near 
and  dear  to  you.  Your  generous  heart  unconsciously 
exaggerates,  I am  sure,  my  merit  in  respect  of  that  most 
honourable  gentleman  who  has  been  the  occasion  of  our 
recent  correspondence.  I cannot  sufficiently  admire  the 
dignity  of  his  conduct,  and  I really  feel  indebted  to  you 
for  giving  me  the  gratification  of  observing  it. 

As  to  that  cross  note,”  which,  rightly  considered,  was 
nothing  of  the  sort,  if  ever  you  refer  to  it  again.  I’ll  do 
— I don’t  exactly  know  what,  but  something  perfectly  des- 
perate and  ferocious.  If  I have  ever  thought  of  it,  it  has 
only  been  to  remember  with  delight  how  soon  we  came  to 
a better  understanding,  and  how  heartily  we  confirmed  it 
with  a most  expressive  shake  of  the  hand,  one  evening 
down  in  that  mouldy  little  den  of  Miss  Kelly’s. 

Heartily  and  faithfully  yours. 


Daddy  ” Knowles. 


250 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


\To  Mrs.  Gaskell.^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  January  31J/,  1850. 
My  dear  Mrs.  GaskIell, 

You  may  perhaps  have  seen  an  announcement  in  the 
papers  of  my  intention  to  start  a new  cheap  weekly  journal 
of  general  literature. 

I do  not  know  what  your  literary  vows  of  temperance  or 
abstinence  may  be,  but  as  I do  honestly  know  that  there  is 
no  living  English  writer  whose  aid  I would  desire  to  enlist 
in  preference  to  the  authoress  of  Mary  Barton  ” (a  book 
that  most  profoundly  affected  and  impressed  me),  I ven- 
ture to  ask  you  whether  you  can  give  me  any  hope  that 
you  will  write  a short  tale,  or  any  number  of  tales,  for  the 
projected  pages. 

No  writer’s  name  will  be  used,  neither  my  own  nor  any 
other ; every  paper  will  be  published  without  any  signa- 
ture, and  all  will  seem  to  express  the  general  mind  and 
purpose  of  the  journal,  which  is  the  raising  up  of  those 
that  are  down,  and  the  general  improvement  of  our  social 
condition.  I should  set  a value  on  your  help  which  your 
modesty  can  hardly  imagine  ; and  I am  perfectly  sure  that 
the  least  result  of  your  reflection  or  observation  in  respect 
of  the  life  around  you,  would  attract  attention  and  do 
good. 

Of  course  I regard  your  time  as  valuable,  and  consider 
it  so  when  I ask  you  if  you  could  devote  any  of  it  to  this 
purpose. 

If  you  could  and  would  prefer  to  speak  to  me  on  the 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


251 


subject,  I should  be  very  glad  indeed  to  come  to  Manches- 
ter for  a few  hours  and  explain  anything  you  might  wish 
to  know.  My  unaffected  and  great  admiration  of  your 
book  makes  me  very  earnest  in  all  relating  to  you.  For- 
give my  troubling  you  for  this  reason,  and  believe  me  ever. 

Faithfully  yours. 

P.S. — Mrs.  Dickens  and  her  sister  send  their  love, 

[7b  Rev.  James  White ^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Tuesday,  Feb.  1850. 
My  dear  White, 

I have  been  going  to  write  to  you  for  a long  time,  but 
have  always  had  in  my  mind  that  you  might  come  here 
with  Lotty  any . day.  As  Lotty  has  come  without  you, 
however  (witness  a tremendous  rampaging  and  ravaging 
now  going  on  upstairs  !),  I despatch  this  note  to  say  that 
I suppose  you  have  seen  the  announcement,  of  the  new 
weekly  thing,  and  that  if  you  would  ever  write  anything 
for  it,  you  would  please  me  better  than  I can  tell  you. 
We  hope  to  do  some  solid  good,  and  we  mean  to  be  as 
cheery  and  pleasant  as  we  can.  (And,  putting  our  hands 
in  our  breeches  pockets,  we  say  complacently,  that  our 
money  is  as  good  as  Blackwood's  any  day  in  the  week.) 

Now  the  murder's  out  ! 

Are  you  never  coming  to  town  any  more  ? Must  I 
come  to  Bonchurch  ? Am  I born  (for  the  eight-and-thir- 
tieth  time)  next  Thursday,  at  half-past  five,  and  do  you 
mean  to  say  you  are  not  coming  to  dinner  ? Well,  well,  I 


252  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 

can  always  go  over  to  Puseyism  to  spite  my  friends,  and 
that's  some  comfort. 

Poor  dear  Jeffrey  ! I had  heard  from  him  but  a few 
days,  and  the  unopened  proof  of  No.  lo  was  lying  on  his 
table  when  he  died.  I believe  I have  lost  as  affectionate 
a friend  as  I ever  had,  or  ever  shall  have,  in  this  world. 

Ever  heartily  yours,  my  dear  White. 


[7h  Mr.  Charles  Knight 

Devonshire  Terrace,  February  1850. 
My  dear  Knight, 

. Let  me  thank  you  in  the  heartiest  manner  for  your  most 
kind  and  gratifying  mention  of  me  in  your  able  pamphlet. 
It  gives  me  great  pleasure,  and  I sincerely  feel  it. 

I quite  agree  with  you  in  all  you  say  so  well  of  the  in- 
justice and  impolicy  of  this  excessive  taxation.  But  when 
I think  of  the  condition  of  the  great  mass  of  the  people,  I 
fear  that  I could  hardly  fdel  the  heart  to  press  for  justice 
in  this  respect,  before  the  window-duty  is  removed.  They 
cannot  read  without  light.  They  cannot  hare  an  average 
chance  of  life  and  health  without  it.  Much  as  we  feel 
our  wrong,  I fear  that  they  feel  their  wrong  more,  and  that 
the  things  just  done  in  this  wise  must  bear  a new  physical 
existence. 

I never  see  you,  and  begin  to  think  we  must  have  an- 
other play — say  in  Cornwall  — expressly  to  bring  us  to- 
gether. 


Very  faithfully  yours. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


253 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  TITLES  OF  ^‘HOUSEHOLD 
WORDS/’ 

THE  FORGE : 

A Weekly  Journal, 

Conducted  by  Charles  Dickens. 


“ Thus  at  the  glowing  Forge  of  Life  our  actions  must  be  wrought. 
Thus  on  its  sounding  anvil  shaped 
Each  burning  deed  and  thought.” — Longfellow. 


The  Hearth. 

The  Forge. 

The  Crucible. 

The  Anvil  of  the  Time. 
Charles  Dickens’s  Own. 
Seasonable  Leaves. 
Evergreen  Leaves. 
Home. 


Home-Music. 

Change. 

Time  and  Tide. 
Twopence. 
English  Bells. 
Weekly  Bells. 
The  Rocket. 
Good  Humour. 


iToMr.  W.H.  Wills.] 

148,  King’s  Road,  Brighton, 

* Tuesday  Nighi^  March  12M,  1850. 

My  dear  Wills, 

I have  made  a correction  or  two  in  my  part  of  the 
post-office  article.  I still  observe  the  top-heavy  House- 
hold Words  ” in  the  title.  The  title  of  The  Amusements 
of  the  People  ” has  to  be  altered  as  I have  marked  it.  I 
would  as  soon  have  my  hair  cut  off  as  an  intolerable 
Scotch  shortness  put  into  my  titles  by  the  elision  of  little 
words.  The  Seasons  ” wants  a little  punctuation.  Will 


254 


LETl^ERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


the  “ Incident  in  the  Life  of  Mademoiselle  Clairon  ” go 
into  those  two  pages  ? I fear  not,  but  one  article  would 
be  infinitely  better,  I am  quite  certain,  than  two  or  three 
short  ones.  If  it  will  go  in,  in  with  it. 

I shall  be  back,  please  God,  by  dinner-time  to-morrow 
week.  I will  be  ready  for  Smithfield  either  on  the  follow- 
ing Monday  morning  at  four,  or  any  other  morning  you 
may  arrange  for. 

Would  it  do  to  make  up  No.  2 on  Wednesday,  the  20th, 
instead  of  Saturday  ? If  so,  it  would  be  an  immense  con- 
venience to  me.  But  if  it  be  distinctly  necessary  to  make 
it  up  on  Saturday,  say  by  return,  and  I am  to  be  relied 
upon.  Don’t  fail  in  this. 

I really  cant  promise  to  be  comic.  Indeed,  your  note 
put  me  out  a little,  for  I had  just  sat  down  to  begin,  It 
will  last  my  time.”  I will  shake  my  head  a little,  and  see 
if  I can  shake  a more  comic  substitute  out  of  it. 

As  to  two  comic  articles,  or  two  any  sort  of  articles,  out 
of  me,  that’s  the  intensest  extreme  of  no-goism. 

Ever  faithfully. 

• 

\^To  Rev.  James  JVAite.~\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  July  13th,  1850. 

My  dear  White, 

Being  obliged  (sorely  against  my  will)  to  leave  my  work 
this  morning  and  go  out,  and  having  a few  spare  minutes 
before  I go,  I write  a hasty  note,  to  hint  how  glad  I am  to 
have  received  yours,  and  how  happy  and  tranquil  we  feel 
it  to  be  for  you  all,  that  the  end  of  that  long  illness  has 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


255 


come."^  Kate  and  Georgy  send  best  loves  to  Mrs.  White, 
and  we  hope  she  will  take  all  needful  rest  and  relief  after 
those  arduous,  sad,  and  weary  weeks.  I have  taken  a 
house  at  Broadstairs,  from  early  in  August  until  the  end  of 
October,  as  I don’t  want  to  come  back  to  London  until  I 
shall  have  finished  Copperfield.”  I am  rejoiced  at  the 
idea  of  your  going  there.  You  will  find  it  the  healthiest 
and  freshest  of  places  ; and  there  are  Canterbury,  and  all 
varieties  of  what  Leigh  Hunt  calls  “ greenery,”  within  a 
few  minutes’  railroad  ride.  It  is  not  very  picturesque 
ashore,  but  extremely  so  seaward  ; all  manner  of  ships 
continually  passing  close  inshore.  So  come,  and  we’ll 
have  no  end  of  sports,  please  God. 

I am  glad  to  say,  as  I know  you  will  be  to  hear,  that 
there  seems  a bright  unanimity  about  Copperfield.”  I 
am  very  much  interested  in  it  and  pleased  with  it  myself. 
I have  carefully  planned  out  the  story,  for  some  time  past, 
to  the  end,  and  am  making  out  my  purposes  with  great 
care.  I should  like  to  know  what  you  see  from  that  tower 
of  yours.  I have  little  doubt  you  see  the  real  objects  in 
the  prospect. 

^‘Household  Words  ” goes  on  thoroughly  well.  It  is  ex- 
pensive of  course,  and  demands  a large  circulation  ; but  it 
is  taking  a great  and  steady  stand,  and  I have  no  doubt 
already  yields  a good  round  profit. 

To-morrow  week  I shall  expect  you.  You  shall  have 
a bottle  of  the  Twenty.”  I have  kept  a few  last  linger- 


* The  last  illness  of  Mrs.  White’s  mother. 


256 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  BL CHENS. 


ing  caskets  with  the  gem  enshrined  therein,  expressly  for 
you.  Ever,  my  dear  White, 

Cordially  yours. 

[7h  Mr.  W.  H.  Wills.^ 

Hotel  Windsor,  Paris,  Thursday,  July  2^th,  1850. 

A f ter  post-time. 

My  dear  Wills, 

I have  had  much  ado  to  get  to  work  ; the  heat  here  being 
so  intense  that  I can  do  nothing  but  lie  on  the  bare  floor 
all  day.  I never  felt  it  anything  like  so  hot  in  Italy. 

There  is  nothing  doing  in  the  theatres,  and  the  atmos- 
phere is  so  horribly  oppressive  there  that  one  can  hardly 
endure  it.  I came  out  of  the  Fran9ais  last  night  half  dead. 
I am  writing  at  this  moment  with  nothing  on  but  a shirt 
and  pair  of  white  trousers,  and  have  been  sitting  four 
hours  at  this  paper,  but  am  as  faint  with  the  heat  as  if  I 
had  been  at  some  tremendous  gymnastics  ; and  yet  we  had 
a thunderstorm  last  night. 

I hope  we  are  doing  pretty  well  in  Wellington  Street. 
My  anxiety  makes  me  feel  as  if  I had  been  away  a year.  I 
hope  to  be  home  on  Tuesday  evening,  or  night  at  latest.  I 
have  picked  up  a very  curious  book  of  French  statistics 
that  will  suit  us,  and  an  odd  proposal  for  a company  con- 
nected with  the  gambling  in  California,  of  which  you  will 
also  be  able  to  make  something. 

I saw  a certain  Lord  Spleen  mentioned  in  a playbill 
yesterday,  and  will  look  after  that  distinguished  English 
nobleman  to-night,  if  possible.  Rachel  played  last  night 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCICENS.  257 

for  the  last  time  before  going  to  London,  and  has  not  so 
much  in  her  as  some  of  our  friends  suppose. 

The  English  people  are  perpetually  squeezing  themselves 
into  courtyards,  blind  alleys,  closed  edifices,  and  other 
places  where  they  have  no  sort  of  business.  The  French 
people,  as  usual,  are  making  as  much  noise  as  possible 
about  everything  that  is  of  no  importance,  but  seem  (as 
far  as  one  can  judge)  pretty  quiet  and  good-humoured. 
They  made  a mighty  hullabaloo  at  the  theatre  last  night, 
when  Brutus  (the  play  was  “ Lucretia  ”)  declaimed  about 
liberty. 

Ever  faithfully. 

iTo  Mr,  W,  H,  Wills?[ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  August  <^th,  1850. 

My  dear  Wills, 

I shall  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  will  write  to  this  man 
and  tell  him  that  what  he  asks  I never  do — firstly,  because 
I have  no  kind  of  connection  with  any  manager  or  theatre  ; 
secondly,  because  I am  asked  to  read  so  many  manuscripts, 
that  compliance  is  impossible,  or  I should  have  no  other 
occupation  or  relaxation  in  the  world. 

' 3^^  A foreign  gentleman,  w;ith  a beard,  name  unknown, 
but  signing  himself  A Fellow  Man,”  and  dating  from 
nowhere,  declined,  twice  yesterday,  to  leave  this  house 
for  any  less  consideration  than  the  insignificant  one  of 
twenty  pounds.”  I have  had  a policeman  waiting  for 
him  all  day. 


Faithfully  yours. 


258  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 

\To  Mrs.  Charles  Dickensi\ 

Broadstairs,  Tuesday.^  Sept.  2>rdy  1850. 

My  dearest  Kate, 

I enclose  a few  lines  from  Georgy,  and  write  these  to 
say  that  I purpose  going  home  at  some  time  on  Thursday, 
but  I cannot  say  precisely  when,  as  it  depends  on  what 
work  I do  to-morrow.  Yesterday  Charles  Knight,  White, 
Forster,  Charley,  and  I walked  to  Richborough  Castle  and 
back.  Knight  dined  with  us  afterwards  ; and  the  Whites, 
the  Bicknells,  and  Mrs.  Gibson  came  in  in  the  evening  and 
played  vingt-et-un. 

Having  no  news  I must  tell  you  a story  of  Sydney.  The 
children,  Georgy,  and  I were  out  in  the  garden  on  Sunday 
evening  (by-the-bye,  I made  a beautiful  passage  down, 
and  got  to  Margate  a few  minutes  after  one),  when  I 
asked  Sydney  if  he  would  go  to  the  railroad  and  see  if 
Forster  was  coming.  As  he  answered  very  boldly  Yes,*’ 
I opened  the  garden-gate,  upon  which  he  set  off  alone  as 
fast  as  his  legs  would  carry  him  ; and  being  pursued,  was 
not  overtaken  until  he  was  through  the  Lawn  House  Arch- 
way, when  he  was  still  going  on  at  full  speed — I can’t  con- 
ceive where.  Being  brought  back  in  triumph,  he  made  a 
number  of  fictitious  starts,  for  the  sake  of  being  overtaken 
again,  and  we  made  a regular  game  of  it.  At  last,  when 
he  and  Ally  had  run  away,  instead  of  running  after  them, 
we  came  into  the  garden,  shut  the  gate,  and  crouched 
down  on  the  ground.  Presently  we  heard  them  come 
back  and  say  to  each  other  with  some  alarm,  Why,  the 
gate’s  shut,  and  they’re  all  gone  ! ” Ally  began  in  a dis- 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS.  259 

mayed  way  to  cry  out,  but  the  Phenomenon  shouting, 

Open  the  gate  ! ” sent  an  enormous  stone  flying  into  the 
garden  (among  our  heads)  by  way  of  alarming  the  estab- 
lishment. I thought  it  a wonderful  piece  of  character, 
showing  great  readiness  of  resource.  He  would  have  fired 
a perfect  battery  of  stones,  or  very  likely  have  broken  the 
pantry  window,  I think,  if  we  hadn’t  let  him  in. 

They  are  all  in  great  force,  and  send  their  loves.  They 
are  all  much  excited  with  the  expectation  of  receiving  you 
on  Friday,  and  would  start  me  off  to  fetch  you  now  if  I 
would  go. 

Our  train  on  Friday  will  be  half-past  twelve.  I have 
spoken  to  Georgy  about  the  partridges,  and  hope  we  may 
find  some. 

Ever,  my  dearest  Kate, 

Most  affectionately. 

[ To  Miss  Mary  Boyle,  ] 

Broadstairs,  Kent,  Monday  Night,  Sept,  16th,  1850. 
My  dear  Miss  Boyle, 

Your  letter  having  arrived  in  time  for  me  to  write  a line 
by  the  evening  post,  I came  out  of  a paroxysm  of  Cop- 
perfield,”  to  say  that  I am  perfectly  delighted  to  read  it,  and 
to  know  that  we  are  going  to  act  together  in  that  merry 
party.  We  dress  Every  Man  ” in  Queen  Elizabeth’s 
time.  The  acting  copy  is  much  altered  from  the  old  play, 
but  we  still  smooth  down  phrases  when  needful.  I don’t 
remember  anyone  that  is  changed.  Georgina  says  she 
can’t  describe  the  dress  Mrs.  Kitely  used  to  wear.  I shall 


26o 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


be  in  town  on  Saturday,  and  will  then  get  Maclise  to  make 
me  a little  sketch  of  it,  carefully  explained,  which  I will 
post  to  you.  At  the  same  time  I will  send  you  the  book. 
After  consideration  of  forces,  it  has  occurred  to  me  (old 
Ben  being,  I dare  say,  rare  ; but  I do  know  rather  heavy 
here  and  there)  that  Mrs.  Inchbald’s  Animal  Magnetism,” 
which  we  have  often  played,  will  go  ” with  a greater 
laugh  than  anything  else.  That  book  I will  send  you  on 
Saturday  too.  You  will  find  your  part  (Lisette,  I think  it 
is  called,  but  it  is  a waiting-maid)  a most  admirable  one  ; 
and  I have  seen  people  laugh  at  the  piece  until  they  have 
hung  over  the  front  of  the  boxes  like  ripe  fruit.  You  may 
dress  the  part  to  please  yourself  after  reading  it.  We 
wear  powder.  I will  take  care  (bringing  a theatrical  hair- 
dresser for  the  company)  of  your  wig  ! We  will  rehearse 
the  two  pieces  when  we  go  down,  or  at  least  anything  with 
which  you  have  to  do,  over  and  over  again.  You  wifi  find 
fny  company  so  well  used  to  it,  and  so  accustomed  to  con- 
sider it  a grave  matter  of  business,  as  to  make  it  easy.  I 
am  now  awaiting  the  French  books  with  a view  to  Rock- 
ingham,” and  I hope  to  report  of  that  too,  when  I write  to 
you  on  Saturday. 

My  dear  Miss  Boyle,  very  faithfully  yours. 

\To  Miss  Mary  Boyle 
Devonshire  Terrace,  Friday,  Sept.  2oth,  1850. 
My  dear  Miss  Boyle, 

I enclose  you  the  book  of  Animal  Magnetism,” 
and  the  book  of  Every  Man  in  his  Humour ; ” also  a 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


261 


sketch  by  Mr.  Maclise  of  a correct  and  picturesque  Mrs. 
Kitely.  Mr.  Forster  is  Kitely  ; Mr.  Lemon,  Brain  worm; 
Mr.  Leech,  Master  Matthew  ; Mr.  Jerrold,  Master  Stephen  ; 
Mr.  Stone,  Downright.  Kitely’s  dress  is  a very  plain 
purple  gown,  like  a Bluecoat-boy’s.  Downright’s  dress  ‘is 
also  very  sober,  chiefly  brown  and  gray.  All  the  rest  of  us 
are  very  bright.  I am  flaming  red.  Georgina  will  write 
you  about  your  color  and  hers  in  Animal  Magnetism  ; ” 
the  gayer  the  better.  I am  the  Doctor,  in  black,  with  red 
stockings.  Mr.  Lemon  (an  excellent  actor),  the  valet,  as 
far  as  I can  remember,  in  blue  and  yellow,  and  a chintz 
waistcoat.  Mr.  Leech  is  the  Marquis,  and  Mr.  Egg  the 
one-eyed  servant. 

What  do  you  think  of  doing  Animal  Magnetism  ” as 
the  last  piece  (we  may  play  three  in  all,  I think)  at 
Rockingham  ? If  so,  we  might  make  Quin  the  one-eyed 
servant,  and  beat  up  with  Mrs.  Watson  for  a Marquis.  Will 
you  tell  me  what  you  think  of  this,  addressed  to  Broadstairs  ? 
I have  not  heard  from  Bulwer  again.  I daresay  I have 
crossed  a letter  from  him  by  coming  up  to-day  ; but  I have 
every  reason  to  believe  that  the  last  week  in  October  is 
the  time. 

Ever  very  faithfully  yours. 

P.S. — This  is  quite  a managerial  letter,  which  I write 
with  all  manner  of  appointments  and  business  discussions 
going  on  about  me,  having  my  pen  on  the  paper  and  my 
eye  on  Household  Words,”  my  head  on  Copperfield  ” 
and  my  ear  nowhere  particularly. 


262 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


I will  let  you  know  about  A Day  after  the  Wedding.’* 
I have  sent  for  the  book  on  Monday. . 


iTo  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson^ 

Broadstairs,  Kent,  September  1850. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Coming  out  of  Copperfield  ” into  a condition  of  tem- 
porary and  partial  consciousness,  I plunge  into  histri- 
onic duties,  and  hold  enormous  correspondence  with  Miss 
Boyle,  between  whom  and  myself  the  most  portentous  pack- 
ets are  continually  passing.  I send  you  a piece  we  pur- 
pose playing  last  at  Rockingham,  which  my  company  ” 
played  in  London,  Scotland,  Manchester,  Liverpool,  and  I 
don’t  know  where  else.  It  is  one  of  the  most  ridiculous 
things  ever  done.  We  purpose,  as  I have  said,  playing  it 
last.  Why  do  I send  it  to  you  ? Because  there  is  an  ex- 
cellent part  (played  in  my  troupe  by  George  Cruikshank) 
for  your  brother  in  it — Jeffrey  ; with  a black  patch  on  his 
eye,  and  a lame  leg,  he  would  be  charming — noble  ! If  he 
is  come  home,  give  him  my  love  and  tell  him  so.  If  he  is 
not  come  home,  do  me  that  favour  when  he  does  come. 
And  add  that  I have  a wig  for  him  belonging  to  the  part, 
which  I have  an  idea  of  sending  to  the  Exposition  of  ’51, 
as  a triumph  of  human  ingenuity. 

I am  the  Doctor ; Miss  Boyle,  Lisette  ; Georgy,  the 
other  little  woman.  We  have  nearly  arranged  our  bill  ” 
for  Rockingham.  We  shall  want  one  more  reasonably 
good  actor,  besides  your  brother  and  Miss  Boyle’s,  to  play 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  263 

the  Marquis  in  this  piece.  Do  you  know  a being  en- 
dowed by  nature  with  the  requisite  qualities  ? 

There  are  some  things  in  the  next  Copperfield  ” that  I 
think  better  than  any  that  have  gone  before.  After  I 
have  been  believing  such  things  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul,  two  results  always  ensue  : first,  I can’t  write  plainly 
to  the  eye  ; secondly,  I can’t  write  sensibly  to  the  mind. 
So  Copperfield  ” is  to  blame,  and  I am  not,  for  this  wan- 
dering note  ; and  if  you  like  it,  you’ll  forgive  me.  With 
my  affectionate  remembrances  to  Watson, 

Ever,  my  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Very  faithfully  yours. 

P.S. — find  I am  not  equal  to  the  flourish. 

[7b  Miss  Mary  Boyle?^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Wednesday,  Oct.  ydth,  1850. 
My  dear  Miss  Boyle, 

We  are  all  extremely  concerned  and  distressed  to  lose 
you.  But  we  feel  that  it  cannot  be  otherwise,  and  we  do 
not,  in  our  own  expectation  of  amusement,  forget  the  sad 
cause  of  your  absence. 

Bulwer  was  here  yesterday  ; and  if  I were  to  tell  you 
how  earnestly  he  and  all  the  other  friends  whom  you  don’t 
know  have  looked  forward  to  the  projected  association 
with  you,  and  in  what  a friendly  spirit  they  all  express 
their  disappointment,  you  would  be  quite  moved  by  it,  I 
think.  Pray  don’t  give  yourself  the  least  uneasiness  on  ac- 
count of  the  blank  in  our  arrangements.  I did  not  write 


264  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


to  you  yesterday,  in  the  hope  that  I might  be  able  to  tell 
you  to-day  that  I had  replaced  you,  in  however  poor  a way. 
I cannot  do  that  yet,  but  I am  busily  making  out  some 
means  of  filling  the  parts  before  we  rehearse  to-morrow 
night,  and  I trust  to  be  able  to  do  so  in  some  out-of-the- 
way  manner. 

Mrs.  Dickens  and  Bridget  send  you  their  kindest  re- 
membrances. They  are  bitterly  disappointed  at  not  seeing 
you  to-day,  but  we  all  hope  for  a better  time. 

Dear  Miss  Boyle, 

Faithfully  yours  always. 

iTo  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson.] 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Saturday  Evening,  Nov.  2'^rd,  1850. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Being  well  home  from  Knebworth,  where  everything  has 
gone  off  in  a whirl  of  triumph  and  fired  the  whole  length 
and  breadth  of  the  county  of  Hertfordshire,  I write  a short 
note  to  say  that  we  are  yours  anytime  after  Twelfth-night, 
and  that  we  look  forward  to  seeing  you  with  the  greatest 
pleasure.  I should  have  made  this  reply  to  your  last  note 
sooner,  but  that  I have  been  waiting  to  send  you  “ Cop- 
perfield  in  a new  waistcoat.  His  tailor  is  so  slow  that  it 
has  not  yet  appeared  ; but  when  the  resplendent  garment 
comes  home  it  shall  be  forwarded. 

I have  not  your  note  at  hand,  but  I think  you  said  ^^any 
time  after  Christmas.*’  At  all  events,  and  whatever  you 
said,  we  will  conclude  a treaty  on  any  terms  you  may  pro- 
pose. And  if  it  should  include  any  of  Charley’s  holidays, 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  265 

perhaps  you  would  allow  us  to  put  a brass  collar  round 
his  neck,  and  chain  him  up  in  the  stable. 

Kate  and  Georgina  (who  has  covered  herself  with  glory) 
join  me  in  best  remembrances  and  regards  to  Watson  and 
you  and  all  the  house.  I have  stupendous  proposals  to 
make  concerning  Switzerland  in  the  spring. 

I promised  Bulwer  to  make  enquiry  of  you  about  Miss 
Watson,”  whom  he  once  knew  and  greatly  wished  to  hear 
of.  He  associated  her  (but  was  not  clear  how)  with  Lady 
Palmer. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Ever  faithfully  yours. 

[7h  Mr.  Henry  B ic knell. ^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  November  2^th,  1850. 
My  dear  Mr.  Bicknell, 

If  I ever  did  such  a thing,  believe  me  I would  do  it  at 
your  request.  But  I don’t,  and  if  you  could  see  the  ram- 
parts of  letters  from  similar  institutions  with  which  my 
desk  bristles  every  now  and  then,  you  would  feel  that  noth- 
ing lies  between  total  abstinence  (in  this  regard)  and  utter 
[bewilderment  and  lecturation. 

Mrs.  Dickens  and  her  sister  unite  with  me  in  kind  re- 
gards to  you  and  Mrs.  Bicknell.  The  consequences  of  the 
accident  are  fast  fading,  I am  happy  to  say.  We  all  hope 
to  hear  shortly  that  Mrs.  Bicknell  has  recovered  that  other 
little  accident,  which  (as  you  and  I know)  will  occasionally 
happen  in  well-regulated  families. 

Very  faithfully  yours. 


12 


266 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


[ To  Mr.  Walter  Savage  Landor.^ 

Office  of  “ Household  Words,” 

Wednesday^  Dec.  1850. 

My  dear  Landor, 

I have  been  (a  strange  thing  for  me)  so  very  unwell  since 
Sunday,  that  I have  hardly  been  able  to  hold  up  my  head 
— a bilious  attack,  I believe,  and  a very  miserable  sort  of 
business.  This,  my  dear  friend,  is  the  reason  why  I have 
not  sooner  written  to  you  in  reference  to  your  noble  letter, 
which  I read  in  The  Examiner.,  and  for  which — as  it  exalts 
me — I cannot,  cannot  thank  you  in  words. 

We  had  been  following  up  the  blow  in  Kinkel’s*  favour, 
and  I was  growing  sanguine,  in  the  hope  of  getting  him 
out  (having  enlisted  strong  and  active  sympathy  in  his  be- 
half), when  the  news  came  of  his  escape.  Since  then  we 
have  heard  nothing  of  him.  I rather  incline  to  the  opinion 
that  the  damnable  powers  that  be  connived  at  his  escape, 
but  know  nothing.  Whether  he  be  retaken  or  whether  he 
appear  (as  I am  not  without  hope  he  may)  in  the  streets 
of  London,  I shall  be  a party  to  no  step  whatever  without 
consulting  you  ; and  if  any  scrap  of  intelligence  concern- 
ing him  shall  reach  me,  it  shall  be  yours  immediately. 

Horne  wrote  the  article.  I shall  see  him  here  to-night, 
and  know  how  he  will  feel  your  sympathy  and  support. 
But  I do  not  wait  to  see  him  before  writing,  lest  you  should 


* Dr.  Gottfried  Kinkcl,  a distinguished  scholar  and  Professor  in  the  University 
of  Bonn,  who  was  at  that  time  undergoing  very  rigorous  State  imprisonment  in 
Prussia,  for  political  reasons.  Dr.  Kinkel  was  afterwards  well  known  as  a teacher 
and  lecturer  on  Art  in  London,  where  he  resided  for  many  years. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  26/ 

think  me  slow  to  feel  your  generosity.  We  said  at  home 
when  we  read  your  letter,  that  it  was  like  the  opening  of 
your  whole  munificent  and  bare  heart. 

Ever  most  affectionately  yours, 

My  dear  Landor. 

This  is  No.  2. 

[ To  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson.^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Monday  Morning,  Dec,  gik,  1850. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Your  note  to  me  of  Saturday  has  crossed  mine  to  you, 
I find.  If  you  open  both  of  mine  together,  please  to  ob- 
serve this  is  No.  2. 

You  may  rely  on  Mr.  Tucker’s  doing  his  work  thoroughly 
well  and  charging  a fair  price.  It  is  not  possible  for  him 
to  say  aforehand,  in  such  a case,  what  it  will  cost,  I im- 
agine, as  he  will  have  to  adapt  his  work  to  the  place. 
Nathan’s  stage  knowledge  may  be  stated  in  the  following 
figures  : 00000000000.  Therefore,  I think  you  had  best 
refer  Mr.  Tucker  to  me.,  and  I will  apply  all  needful  screws 
and  tortures  to  him. 

I have  thought  of  one  or  two  very  ingenious  (hem  !) 
little  contrivances  for  adapting  the  difficulties  of  Used 
Up  ” to  the  small  stage.  They  will  require  to  be  so  ex- 
actly explained  to  your  carpenter  (though  very  easy  little 
things  in  themselves),  that  I think  I had  better,  before 
Christmas,  send  my  servant  down  for  an  hour — he  is  quite 
an  old  stager  now — to  show  him  precisely  what  I mean. 


258 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


It  is  not  a day’s  work,  but  it  would  be  extremely  difficult 
to  explain  in  writing.  I developed  these  wonderful  ideas 
to  the  master  carpenter  at  one  of  the  theatres,  and  he 
shook  his  head  with  an  intensely  mournful  air,  and  said. 
Ah,  sir,  it’s  a universal  observation  in  the  profession,  sir, 
that  it  was  a great  loss  to  the  public  when  you  took  to 
writing  books  ! ” which  I thought  complimentary  to  Cop- 
perfield.” 

Ever  faithfully  yours. 

[7h  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Saturday,  Dec.  14///,  1850. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

I shall  be  delighted  to  come  on  the  seventh  instead  of 
the  eighth.  We  consider  it  an  engagement.  Over  and 
above  the  pleasure  of  a quiet  day  with  you,  I think  I can 
greatly  facilitate  the  preparations  (that’s  the  way,  you  see, 
in  which  we  cheat  ourselves  into  making  duties  of  pleas- 
ures) by  being  at  Rockingham  a day  earlier.  So  that’s 
settled. 

I was  quite  certain. when  that  Child  of  Israel  mentioned 
those  dimensions,  that  he  must  be  wrong.  For  which 
wooden-headedness  the  Child  shall  be  taken  to  task  on 
Monday  morning,  when  I am  going  to  look  at  his  prepara- 
tions, by  appointment,  about  the  door.  Don’t  you  observe, 
that  the  scenery  not  being  made  expressly  for  the  room, 
it  may  be  impossible  to  use  it  as  you  propose  ? There  is 
a scene  before  that  wall,  and  unless  the  door  in  the  scene 
(supposing  there  to  be  one,  which  I am  not  sure  of)  should 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  269 

come  exactly  into  the  place  of  the  door  of  the  room,  the 
door  of  the  room  might  as  well  be  in  Africa.  If  it  could 
be  used  it  would  still  require  to  be  backed  (excuse  pro- 
fessional technicality)  by  another  scene  in  the  passage. 
And  if  it  be  rather  in  the  side  of  the  bottom  of  the  room 
(as  I seem  to  remember  it),  it  would  be  shut  out  of  sight, 
or  partially,  by  the  side  scenes.  Do  you  comprehend 
these  stage  managerial  sagacities  ? That  piece  of  ad- 
ditional room  in  so  small  a stage  would  be  of  immense 
service,  if  we  could  avail  ourselves  of  it.  If  we  can’t,  I 
have  another  means  (I  think)  of  discovering  Leech, 
Saville,  and  Coldstream  at  table.  I am  constantly  turning 
over  in  my  mind  the  capacities  of  the  place,  and  hope  by 
one  means  or  other  to  make  something  more  than  the  best 
of  it.  As  to  the  fireplace,  you  will  never  be  able  to  use 
that.  The  heat  of  the  lamp  will  be  very  great,  and  venti- 
lation will  be  the  thing  wanted.  Thirteen  feet  and  a half 
of  depth,  diminished  by  stage  fittings  and  furniture,  is  a 
small  space.  I think  the  doorway  could  be  used  in  the 
last  scene,  with  the  castle  steps  and  platform  for  the  stair- 
case running  straight  through  it  toward  the  hall.  Nous 
verrons.  I will  write  again  about  my  visit  of  inspection, 
probably  on  Monday. 

Will  you  let  them  know  that  Messrs.  Nathan,  of  Titch- 
borne  Street,  Haymarket,  will  dress  them,  please,  and  that 
I will  engage  for  their  doing  it  thoroughly  well ; also  that 
Mr.  Wilson,  theatrical  hairdresser.  Strand,  near  St.  Clem- 
ent’s Churchyard,  will  come  down  with  wigs,  etc.,  to  make 
np  ” everybody  ; that  he  has  a list  of  the  pieces  from  me, 


2 JO 


LETTERS  OF  CL/ARLES  DICKENS. 


and  that  he  will  be  glad  to  measure  the  heads  and  consult 
the  tastes  of  all  concerned,  if  they  will  give  him  the  op- 
portunity beforehand  ? I should  like  to  see  Sir  Adonis 
Leech  and  the  Hon.  T.  Saville  if  I can.  For  they  ought 
to  be  wonderfully  made  up,  and  to  be  as  unlike  themselves 
as  possible,  and  to  contrast  well  with  each  other  and  with 
me.  I rather  grudge  caro  sposo  coming  into  the  company. 
I should  like  him  so  much  to  see  the  play.  If  we  do  it  all 
well  together  it  ought  to  be  so  very  pleasant.  I never  saw 
a great  mass  of  people  so  charmed  with  a little  story  as 
when  we  acted  it  at  the  Glasgow  Theatre.  But  I have  no 
other  reason  for  faltering  when  I take  him  to  my  arms.  I 
feel  that  he  is  the  man  for  the  part.*  I see  him  with  a 
blue  bag,  a flaxen  wig,  and  green  spectacles.  I know 
what  it  will  be.  I foresee  how  all  that  sessional  experience 
will  come  out.  I reconcile  myself  to  it,  in  spite  of  the 
selfish  consideration  of  wanting  him  elsewhere  ; and  while 
I have  a heavy  sense  of  a light  being  snuffed  out  in  the 
audience,  perceive  a new  luminary  shining  on  the  stage  ! 

Your  brother  f would  make  a capital  tiger,  too  ! Very 
short  tight  surtout,  doeskins,  bright  top-boots, .white  cravat, 
bouquet  in  button-hole,  close  wig — very  good,  ve — ry  good. 
It  clearly  must  be  so.  The  thing  is  done.  I told  you  we 
were  opening  a tremendous  correspondence  when  we  first 
began  to  write  on  such  a long  subject.  But  do  let  me  tell 
you,  once  and  for  all,  that  I am  in  the  business  heart  and 

* The  part  of  the  lawyer  in  “ Used  Up."  It  was  not  played  after  all  by  Mr. 
Watson,  but  by  Mr.  (now  Sir  William)  Boxall,  R.A.,  a very  old  and  intimate 
friend  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Watson,  and  of  Charles  Dickens. 

t This  part,  finally,  was  played  by  Charles  Dickens,  junior. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


271 


soul,  and  that  you  cannot  trouble  me  respecting  it,  and 
that  I wouldn’t  willingly  or  knowingly  leave  the  minutest 
detail  unprovided  for.  It  cannot  possibly  be  a success  if 
the  smallest  peppercorn  of  arrangement  be  omitted.  And 
a success  it  must  be  ! I couldn’t  go  into  such  a thing,  or 
help  to  bring  you  poorly  out  of  it,  for  any  earthly  consid- 
eration. Talking  of  forgetting,  isn’t  it  odd  ? I doubt  if  I 
could  forget  words  I had  learned,  so  long  as  I wanted 
them.  But  the  moment  the  necessity  goes,  they  go.  I 
know  my  place  and  everybody’s  place  in  this  identical 
piece  of  ‘‘Used  Up  ” perfectly,  and  could  put  every  little 
object  on  its  own  square  inches  of  room  exactly  where  it 
ought  to  be.  But  I have  no  more  recollection  of  my  words 
now  (I  took  the  book  up  yesterday)  than  if  I had  only 
seen  the  play  as  one  of  the  audience  at  a theatre.  Perhaps 
not  so  much.  With  cordial  remembrances. 

Ever,  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Faithfully  yours. 

\_To  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson.^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  December  1850. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

I am  sorry  to  say  that  business  (“  Household  Words  ” 
business)  will  keep  me  in  town  to-morrow.  But  on  Mon- 
day I propose  coming  down  and  returning  the  same  day. 
The  train  for  my  money  appears  to  be  the  half-past  six 
A.M.  (horrible  initials  !),  and  to  that  invention  for  promot- 
ing early  rising  I design  to  commit  myself. 

I am  shocked  if  I also  made  the  mistake  of  confounding 


2/2 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


those  two  (and  too)  similar  names.*  But  I think  Mr 
S-T-A-F-F-o-R-D  had  better  do  the  Marquis.  I am  glad  to 
find  that  we  agree,  but  we  always  do. 

I have  closely  overhauled  the  little  theatre,  and  the 
carpenter  and  painter.  The  whole  has  been  entirely 
repainted  (I  mean  the  proscenium  and  scenery)  for  this 
especial  purpose,  and  is  extremely  pretty.  I don’t  think, 
the  scale  considered,  that  anything  better  could  be  done. 
It  is  very  elegant.  I have  brought  the  Child  ” to  this. 
For  the  hire  of  the  theatre,  fifteen  pounds.  The  carriage 
to  be  extra.  The  Child’s  fares  and  expenses  (which  will 
be  very  moderate)  to  be  extra.  The  stage  carpenter’s 
wages  to  be  extra — seven  shillings  a day.  I don’t  think, 
when  you  see  the  things,  that  you  will  consider  this  too 
much.  It  is  as  good  as  the  Queen’s  little  theatre  at  Wind- 
sor, raised  stage  excepted.  I have  had  an  extraction  made, 
which  will  enable  us  to  use  the  door.  I am  at  present 
breaking  my  man’s  heart,  by  teaching  him  how  to  imitate 
the  sounds  of  the  smashing  of  the  windows  and  the  break- 
ing of  the  balcony  in  ‘‘Used  Up.”  In  the  event  of  his 
death  from  grief,  I have  promised  to  do  something  for  his 
mother.  Thinking  it  possible  that  you  might  not  see  the 
enclosed  until  next  month,  and  hoping  that  it  is  seasonable 
for  Christmas,  I send  it.  Being,  with  cordial  regards  and 
all  seasonable  good  wishes. 

Ever,  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Faithfully  yours. 


* Mr.  Stafford  and  Mr.  Stopford,  who  both  acted  in  the  plays  at  Rockingham. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


273 


P.S. — This  [blot]  is  a tear  over  the  devotion  of  Captain 
Boyle,  who  (as  I learned  from  the  Child  of  Israel  this 
morning)  would  not  decide  upon  Farmer  WurzeFs  coat, 
without  referring  the  question  of  buttons  to  managerial 
approval. 

\To  Mr.  John  Pooled 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Tuesday  Night,  Christmas  Eve,  1850. 
My  dear  Poole, 

On  the  Sunday  when  I last  saw  you,  I went  straight  to 
Lord  John's  with  the  letter  you  read.  He  was  out  of 
town,  and  I left  it  with  my  card. 

On  the  following  Wednesday  I received  a note  from 
him,  saying  that  he  did  not  bear  in  mind  exactly  what  I 
had  told  him  of  you  before,  and  asking  me  to  tell  it  again. 
I immediately  replied,  of  course,  and  gave  him  an  exact 
description  of  you  and  your  condition,  and  your  way  of 
life  in  Paris  and  everything  else  ; a perfect  diorama  in  lit- 
tle, with  you  pervading  it.  To-day  I got  a letter  from  him, 
announcing  that  you  have  a pension  of  a hundred  a year  ! 
of  which  I heartily  wish  you  joy. 

He  says  : I am  happy  to  say  that  the  Queen  has 

approved  of  a pension  of  one  hundred  pounds  a year  to 
Mr.  Poole. 

The  Queen,  in  her  gracious  answer,  informs  me  that 
she  meant  to  have  mentioned  Mr.  Poole  to  me,  and  that 
she  had  wished  to  place  him  in  the  Charter  House,  but 
found  the  society  there  was  not  such  as  he  could  asso- 
ciate with. 

VOL.  I.— 12* 


274 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


Be  so  good  as  to  inform  Mr.  Poole  that  directions  are 
given  for  his  pension,  which  will  date  from  the  end  of  June 
last.” 

I have  lost  no  time  in  answering  this,  but  you  must 
brace  up  your  energies  to  write  him  a short  note  too,  and 
another  for  the  Queen. 

If  you  are  in  Paris,  shall  I ascertain  what  authori- 
ty I shall  need  from  you  to  receive  the  half-year,  which 
I suppose  will  be  shortly  due  ? I can  receive  it  as 
usual. 

With  all  good  wishes  and  congratulations,  seasonable 
and  unseasonable, 

Always  faithfully  yours. 

\_To  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Monday  Morning,  Dec.  2>oth,  1850. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

As  your  letter  is  decided.,  the  scaffolding  shall  be  re- 
erected round  Charley's  boots  (it  has  been  taken  down, 
and  the  workmen  had  retired  to  their  respective  homes 
in  various  parts  of  England  and  Wales)  and  his  dressing 
proceeded  with.  I have  been  very  much  pleased  with  him 
in  the  matter,  as  he  has  never  made  the  least  demonstra- 
tion of  disappointment  or  mortification,  and  was  perfectly 
contented  to  give  in.  {^Here  I break  off  to  go  to  Boxall.) 
i^Here  I return  much  exhausted.) 

Your  time  shall  be  stated  in  the  bills  for  both  nights.  I 
propose  to  rehearse  on  the  day,  on  Thursday  and  Friday, 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


275 


and  in  the  evening  on  Saturday,  that  we  may  try  our  lights. 
Therefore  : 

will  come  on  Tuesday,  7th  January,  as  there 
must  be  a responsible  person  to  anathematise, 
and  as  the  company  seem  so  slow  about  their 
dresses,  that  I foresee  the  strong  probability  of 
Nathan  having  a good  deal  to  do  at  Rockingham 
without  respect. 

Wilson will  come  on  Saturday,  iith  January. 

Tucker will  come  on  Saturday,  iith  January. 

I shall  be  delighted  to  see  your  brother,  and  so  no  more 
at  present  from 

Yours  ever, 

Coldstream  Freelove  Doctor  Dickens. 

P.S. — As  Boxall  (with  his  head  very  much  on  one  side 
and  his  spectacles  on)  danced  backward  from  the  canvas 
incessantly  with  great  nimbleness,  and  returned,  and  made 
little  digs  at  it  with  his  pencil,  with  a horrible  grin  on  his 
countenance,  I augur  that  he  pleased  himself  this  morning. 

Tag added  by  Mr.  Dickens  to  Animal  Magnetism,’* 
played  at  Rockingham  Castle. 

ANIMAL  MAGNETISM.— TAG. 

[After  La  Fleur  says  to  the  Marquis  : “ Sir,  return  him  the  wand  ; 
and  the  ladies,  I daresay,  will  fall  in  love  with  him  again.”] 

Doctor.  I’m  cheated,  robbed  ! I don’t  believe  ! I hate 

Wand,  Marquis,  Doctor,  Ward,  Lisette,  and  Fate  ! 

La  Fleur.  Not  me? 

Doctor.  You  worse,  you  rascal,  than  the  rest. 

La  Y\J£.\}'^{bozving),  To  merit  it,  good  sir,  I’ve  done  my  best. 
Lisette  {sharply).  And  I. 

Constance.  I fear  that  I too  have  a claim 

Upon  your  anger. 


Nathan 

and 

Stage  Carpenter 


276  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


Lisette.  Anger,  madam  ? Shame  ! 

He’s  justly  treated,  as  he  might  have  known. 

And  if  the  wand  were  a divining  one 
It  would  have  turn’d,  within  his  very  hands. 

Point-blank  to  where  your  handsome  husband  stands. 
Constance  {glancing  at  Doctor).  I would  it  were  the  wand  of 
Harlequin. 

To  change  his  temper  and  his  favour  win. 

Jeffrey  {peeping  in).  In  that  case,  mistress,  you  might  be  so  kind 
As  wave  me  back  the  eye  of  which  I’m  blind. 

Marquis  {laughing  and  examining  it).  ’Tis  nothing  but  a piece  of 
senseless  wood. 

And  has  no  influence  for  harm  or  good. 

Yet  stay  ! It  surely  draws  me  towards  those 
Indulgent,  pleasant,  smiling,  beaming  rows  ! 

It  surely  charms  me. 

All.  And  us  too. 

Marquis.  To  bend 

Before  their  gen’rous  efforts  to  commend  ; 

To  cheer  us  on,  through  these  few  happy  hours. 

And  strew  our  mimic  way  with  real  flowers. 

[A  II  make  obeisance. 

Stay  yet  again.  Among  us  all  I feel 
One  subtle,  all-pervading  influence  steal, 

Stirring  one  wish  within  one  heart  and  head. 

Bright  be  the  path  our  host  and  hostess  tread  ! 

Blest  be  their  children,  happy  be  their  race. 

Long  may  they  live,  this  ancient  hall  to  grace  ; 

Long  bear  of  English  virtues  noble  fruit — 

Green-hearted  Rockingham  ! strike  deep  thy  root. 


1851. 

NARRATIVE. 

In  February  this  year,  Charles  Dickens  made  a short 
bachelor  excursion  with  Mr.  Leech  and  the  Hon.  Spencer 
Lyttelton  to  Paris,  from  whence  we  give  a letter  to  his 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


277 


wife.  She  was  at  this  time  in  very  bad  health,  and  the 
little  infant  Dora  had  a serious  illness  during  the  winter. 
The  child  rallied  for  the  time,  but  Mrs.  Dickens  continued 
so  ill  that  she  was  advised  to  try  the  air — and  water — ^of 
Malvern.  And  early  in  March,  she  and  her  sister  were  es- 
tablished in  lodgings  there,  the  children  being  left  in  Lon- 
don, and  Charles  Dickens  dividing  his  time  between  Dev- 
onshire Terrace  and  Malvern.  He  was  busily  occupied 
before  this  time  in  superintending  the  arrangements  for 
Mr.  Macready's  last  appearance  on  the  stage  at  Drury 
Lane,  and  for  a great  dinner  which  was  given  to  Mr.  Mac- 
ready  after  it  on  the  ist  March,  at  which  the  chair  was 
taken  by  Sir  Edward  Bulwer  Lytton.  With  him  Charles 
Dickens  was  then  engaged  in  maturing  a scheme,  which 
had  been  projected  at  the  time  of  the  amateur  play  at 
Kneb worth,  of  a Guild  of  Literature  and  Art,,  which  was 
to  found  a provident  fund  for  literary  men  and  artists  ; and 
to  start  which,  a series  of  dramatic  performances  by  the 
amateur  company  was  proposed.  Sir  E.  B.  Lytton  wrote 
a comedy,  “ Not  so  Bad  as  We  Seem,’’  for  the  purpose,  to 
be  played  in  London  and  the  provinces  ; and  the  Duke  of 
Devonshire  turned  one  of  the  splendid  rooms  in  Devon- 
shire House  into  a theatre,  for  the  first  occasion  of  its  per- 
formance. It  was  played  early  in  May  before  her  Majesty 
and  the  Prince  Consort,  and  a large  audience.  Later  in 
the  season,  there  were  several  representations  of  the  com- 
edy (with  a farce,  Mr.  Nightingale’s  Diary,”  written  by 
Charles  Dickens  for  himself  and  Mr.  Mark  Lemon)  in  the 
Hanover  Square  Rooms. 

But  in  the  interval  between  the  Macready  banquet  and 
the  play  at  Devonshire  House,  Charles  Dickens  underwent 
great  family  trouble  and  sorrow.  His  father,  whose  health 
had  been  declining  for  some  time,  became  seriously  ill, 
and  Charles  Dickens  was  summoned  from  Malvern  to  at- 


278  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


tend  upon  him.  Mr.  John  Dickens  died  on  the  31st  March. 
On  the  14th  April,  Charles  Dickens  had  gone  from  Mal- 
vern to  preside  at  the  annual  dinner  of  the  General  Theat- 
rical Fund,  and  found  his  children  all  well  at  Devonshire 
Terrace.  He  was  playing  with  his  baby,  Dora,  before  he 
went  to  the  dinner ; soon  after  he  left  the  house  the  child 
died  suddenly  in  her  nurse's  arms.  The  sad  news  was 
communicated  to  the  father  after  his  duties  at  the  dinner 
were  over.  The  next  day,  Mr.  Foster  went  to  Malvern  to 
break  the  news  to  Mrs.  Dickens,  and  she  and  her  sister 
returned  with  him  to  London,  and  the  Malvern  lodgings 
were  given  up.  But  Mrs.  Dickens  being  still  out  of  health, 
and  London  being  more  than  usually  full  (this  being  the 
year  of  the  Great  Exhibition),  Charles  Dickens  decided 
to  let  the  town  house  again  for  a few  months,  and  en- 
gaged the  Fort  House,  Broadstairs,  from  the  beginning 
of  May  until  November.  This,  which  was  his  longest 
sojourn  at  Broadstairs,  was  also  the  last,  as  the  following 
summer  he  changed  his  seaside  resort,  and  never  returned 
to  that  pretty  little  watering-place,  although  he  always 
retained  an  affectionate  interest  in  it. 

The  lease  of  the  Devonshire  Terrace  house  was  to  ex- 
pire this  year.  It  was  now  too  small  for  his  family,  so  he 
could  not  renew  it,  although  he  left  it  with  regret.  From 
the  beginning  of  the  year,  he  had  been  in  negotiation  for  a 
house  in  Tavistock  Square,  in  which  his  friend  Mr.  Frank 
Stone  had  lived  for  some  years.  Many  letters  which  fol- 
low are  on  the  subject  of  this  house  and  the  improvements 
Charles  Dickens  made  in  it.  His  brother-in-law,  Henry 
Austin — himself  an  architect-^superintended  the  works  ” 
at  Tavistock  House,  as  he  did  afterwards  those  at  Gad’s 
Hill — and  there  are  many  characteristic  letters  to  Mr. 
Austin  while  these  works  were  in  progress.  In  the  autumn, 
as  a letter  written  in  August  to  Mr.  Stone  will  show,  an  ex- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


279 


change  of  houses  was  made — Mr.  Stone  removing  with 
his  family  to  Devonshire  Terrace  until  his  own  new  house 
was  ready — while  the  alterations  in  Tavistock  House  Avent 
on,  and  Charles  Dickens  removed  into  it  from  Broadstairs, 
in  November. 

His  eldest  son  was  now  an  Eton  boy.  He  had  been 
one  of  the  party  and  had  played  a small  part  in  the  play 
at  Rockingham  Castle,  in  the  Christmas  holidays,  and  his 
father’s  letters  to  Mrs.  Watson  at  the  beginning  of  this 
year  have  reference  to  this  play. 

This  year  he  wrote  and  published  the  Haunted  Man,” 
which  he  had  found  himself  unable  to  finish  for  the  pre- 
vious Christmas.  It  was  the  last  of  the  Christmas  books. 
He  abandoned  them  in  favour  of  a Christmas  number  of 

Household  Words,”  which  he  continued  annually  for 
many  years  in  Household  Words,”  and  ‘‘  All  the  Year 
Round,”  and  in  which  he  had  the  collaboration  of  other 
writers.  The  Haunted  Man,”  was  dramatised  and  pro- 
duced at  the  Adelphi  Theatre,  under  the  management  of 
Mr.  Benjamin  Webster.  Charles  Dickens  read  the  book 
himself,  at  Tavistock  House,  to  a party  of  actors  and  ac- 
tresses. 

At  the  end  of  the  year  he  wrote  the  first  number  of 

Bleak  House,”  although  it  was  not  published  until  March 
of  the  following  year.  With  the  close  attention  and  the 
hard  work  he  gave,  from  the  time  of  its  starting,  to  his 
weekly  periodical,  he  found  it  to  be  most  desirable,  now,  in 
beginning  a new  monthly  serial,  that  he  should  be  ready 
with  some  numbers  in  advance  before  the  appearance  of 
the  first  number. 

A provincial  tour  for  the  Guild  ” took  place  at  the  end 
of  the  year.  A letter  to  his  wife,  from  Clifton,  in  Novem- 
ber, gives  a notion  of  the  general  success  and  enthusiasm 
with  which  the  plays  were  attended.  The  new  Hard- 


. 28o  letters  of  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

man/’  to  whom  he  alludes  as  taking  that  part  in  Sir  E.  B. 
Lytton’s  comedy  in  the  place  of  Mr.  Forster,  was  Mr.  John 
Tenniel,  who  was  a new  addition,  and  a very  valuable  and 
pleasant  one,  to  the  company.  Mr.  Topham,  the  delight- 
ful water-colour  painter,  Mr.  Dudley  Costello,  and  Mr. 
Wilkie  Collins  were  also  new  recruits  to  the  company  of 
“ splendid  strollers”  about  this  time.  A letter  to  Mr. 
Wills,  asking  him  to  take  a part  in  the  comedy,  is  given 
here.  He  never  did  act  with  the  company,  but  he  com- 
plied with  Charles  Dickens’s  desire  that  he  should  be  “ in 
the  scheme  ” by  giving  it  all  sorts  of  assistance,  and  al- 
most invariably  being  one  of  the  party  in  the  provincial 
tours. 


\^To  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson.] 

Devonshire  Terrace,  January  2\th,  1&51. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Kate  will  have  told  you,  I daresay,  that  my  despon- 
dency on  coming  to  town  was  relieved  by  a talk  with  Lady 
John  Kussell,  of  which  you  were  the  subject,  and  in  which 
she  spoke  of  you  with  an  earnestness  of  old  affection  and 
regard  that  did  me  good.  I date  my  recovery  (which  has 
been  slow)  from  that  hour.  I am  still  feeble,  and  liable  to 
sudden  outbursts  of  causeless  rage  and  demoniacal  gloom, 
but  I shall  be  better  presently.  What  a thing  it  is,  that 
we  can’t  be  always  innocently  merry  and  happy  with  those 
we  like  best  without  looking  out  at  the  back  windows  of 
life  ! Well,  one  day  perhaps — after  a long  night — the 
blinds  on  that  side  of  the  house  will  be  down  for  ever,  and 
nothing  left  but  the  bright  prospect  in  front. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS,  28 1 

Concerning  supper-toast  (of  which  I feel  bound  to  make 
some  mention),  you  did,  as  you  always  do,  right,  and  ex- 
actly what  was  most  agreeable  to  me. 

My  love  to  your  excellent  husband  (I  wonder  whether 
he  and  the  dining-room  have  got  to  rights  yet  !),  and  to 
the  jolly  little  boys  and  the  calm  little  girl.  Somehow,  I 
shall  always  think  of  Lord  Spencer  as  eternally  walking 
up  and  down  the  platform  at  Rugby,  in  a high  chill  wind, 
with  no  apparent  hope  of  a train — as  I left  him  ; and 
somehow  I always  think  of  Rockingham,  after  coming 
away,  as  if  I belonged  to  it  and  had  left  a bit  of  my  heart 
behind,  which  it  is  so  very  odd  to  find  wanting  twenty 
times  a day. 

Ever,  dear  Mrs.  Watson,  faithfully  yours,  and  his. 


iTo  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson.]^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Tuesday  Night,  Jan.  2W1,  1851. 
My  dear,  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

I presume  you  mean  Mr.  Stafford  and  Mr.  Stopford  to 
pay  Wilson  (as  I have  instructed  him)  a guinea  each  ? 
Am  I right  ? In  that  just  case  I still  owe  you  a guinea 
for  my  part.  I was  going  to  send  you  a post-office  order 
for  that  amount,  when  a faint  sense  of  absurdity  mantled 
my  ingenuous  visage  with  a blush,  and  I thought  it  better 
to  owe  you  the  money  until  we  met.  I hope  it  may  be  soon. 

I believe  I may  lay  claim  to  the  mysterious  inkstand, 
also  to  a volume  lettered  on  the  back,  “ Shipwrecks  and 
Disasters  at  Sea,  II.,”  which  I left  when  I came  down  at 


282 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


Christmas.  Will  you  take  care  of  them  as  hostages  until 
we  effect  an  exchange  ? 

Charley  went  back  in  great  spirits,  threatening  to  write 
to  George.  It  was  a very  wet  night,  and  John  took  him  to 
the  railway.  He  said,  on  his  return  : “ Mas’r  Charles  went 
off  very  gay,  sir.  He  found  some  young  gen’lemen  as  was 
his  friends  in  the  train,  sir.''  Come,"  said  I,  I am  glad 
of  that.  How  many  were  there  ? Two  or  three  ? " Oh 
dear,  sir,  there  was  a matter  of  forty,  sir  ! All  with  their 
heads  out  o'  the  coach-windows,  sir,  a-hallooing  ^ Dickens  ! ’ 
all  over  the  station  ! " 

Her  ladyship  and  the  ward  of  the  Fiz-zish-un  send 
their  best  loves,  in  which  I heartily  join.  If  you  and  your 
dear  husband  come  to  town  before  we  bring  out  Bulwer's 
comedy,  I think  we  must  have  a snug  reading  of  it. 

Ever,  dear  Mrs.  Watson,  faithfully  yours. 

\To  Mr.  Mark  Lemon?\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Friday,  Jan.  1851. 
My  dear  Lemon, 

We  are  deeply  sorry  to  receive  the  mournful  intelligence 
of  your  calamity.  But  we  know  you  will  both  have  found 
comfort  in  that  blessed  belief,  from  which  the  sacred  figure 
with  the  child  upon  His  knee  is,  in  all  stages  of  our  lives, 
inseparable,  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  God  ! 

We  join  in  affectionate  loves  to  you  and  your  dear  wife. 
She  well  deserves  your  praise,  I am  sure. 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


283 


iTo  Mr.  W.H.  m/ls.] 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Monday,  Feb.  10th,  1851. 
My  dear  Wills, 

There  is  a small  part  in  Bulwer’s  comedy,  but  very  good 
what  there  is — not  much — my  servant,  who  opens  the  play, 
which  I should  be  very  glad  if  you  would  like  to  do. 

Pray  understand  that  there  is  no  end  of  men  who  would 
do  it,  and  that  if  you  have  the  least  objection  to  the  trou- 
ble, I don’t  make  this  the  expression  of  a wish  even.  Oth- 
erwise, I would  like  you  to  be  in  the  scheme,  which  is  a 
very  great  and  important  one,  and  which  cannot  have  too 
many  men  who  are  steadily — not  flightily,  like  some  of 
our  friends — in  earnest,  and  who  are  not  to  be  lightly  dis- 
couraged. 

If  you  do  the  part,  I would  like  to  have  a talk  with  you 
about  the  secretarial  duties.  They  must  be  performed  by 
someone  I clearly  see,  and  will  require  good  business  di- 
rection. I should  like  to  put  some  young  fellow,  to  whom 
such  work  and  its  remuneration  would  be  an  object,  under 
your  eye,  if  we  could  find  one  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite 
anywhere.  Let  me  know  whether  I am  to  rate  you  on  the 
ship’s  books  or  not.  If  yes,  consider  yourself  “ called  ” to 
the  reading  (by  Macready)  at  Forster’s  rooms,  on  Wed- 
nesday, the  19th,  at  three. 

And  in  the  meantime  you  shall  have  a proof  of  the 
plan. 


Ever  yours. 


284  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


[ To  Mrs.  Charles  Dickens^ 

Hotel  Wagram,  Paris,  Thursday,  Feb,  12th,  1851. 
My  dearest  Kate, 

I received  your  letter  this  morning  (on  returning  from 
an  expedition  to  a market  thirteen  miles  away,  which  in- 
volved the  necessity  of  getting _up  at  five),  and  am  delighted 
to  have  such  good  accounts  of  all  at  home. 

We  had  D’Orsay  to  dinner  yesterday,  and  I am  hurried 
to  dress  now,  in  order  to  pay  a promised  visit  to  his  atelier. 
He  was  very  happy  with  us,  and  is  much  improved  both  in 
spirits  and  looks.  Lord  and  Lady  Castlereagh  live  down- 
stairs here,  and  we  went  to  them  in  the  evening,  and  after- 
wards brought  him  upstairs  to  smoke.  To-night  we  are 
going  to  see  Lemaitre  in  the  renowned  Belphegor  ” piece. 
To-morrow  at  noon  we  leave  Paris  for  Calais  (the  Boulogne 
boat  does  not  serve  our  turn),  and  unless  the  weather  for 
crossing  should  be  absurd,  I shall  be  at  home,  please  God, 
early  on  the  evening  of  Saturday.  It  continues  to  be  de- 
lightful weather  here — gusty,  but  very  clear  and  fine. 
Leech  and  I had  a charming  country  walk  before  breakfast 
this  morning  at  Poissy  and  enjoyed  it  very  much.  The 
rime  was  on  the  grass  and  trees,  and  the  country  most  de- 
licious. 

Spencer  Lyttelton  is  a capital  companion  on  a trip,  and 
a great  addition  to  the  party.  We  have  got  on  famously 
and  been  very  facetious.  With  best  love  to  Georgina  and 
the  darlings. 


Ever  most  affectionately 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  285 


[ To  Miss  Mary  Boylei\ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Friday  Night,  late,  Feb.  21st,  1851. 
My  dear  Miss  Boyle, 

I have  devoted  a couple  of  hours  this  evening  to  going 
very  carefully  over  your  paper  (which  I had  read  before) 
and  to  endeavouring  to  bring  it  closer,  and  to  lighten  it, 
and  to  give  it  that  sort  of  compactness  which  a habit  of 
composition,  and  of  disciplining  one’s  thoughts  like  a regi- 
ment, and  of  studying  the  art  of  putting  each  soldier  into 
his  right  place,  may  have  gradually  taught  me  to  think 
necessary.  I hope,  when  you  see  it  in  print,  you  will  not 
be  alarmed  by  my  use  of  the  pruning-knife.  I have  tried 
to  exercise  it  with  the  utmost  delicacy  and  discretion,  and 
to  suggest  to  you,  especially  towards  the  end,  how  this  sort 
of  writing  (regard  being  had  to  the  size  of  the  journal  in 
which  it  appears)  requires  to  be  compressed,  and  is  made 
pleasanter  by  compression.  This  all  reads  very  solemnly, 
but  only  because  I want  you  to  read  it  (I  mean  the  article) 
with  as  loving  an  eye  as  I have  truly  tried  to  touch  it  with 
a loving  and  gentle  hand.  I propose  to  call  it  My  Ma- 
hogany Friend.”  The  other  name  is  too  long,  and  I think 
not  attractive.  Until  I go  to  the  office  to-morrow  and  see 
what  is  actually  in  hand,  I am  not  certain  of  the  number 
in  which  it  will  appear,  but  Georgy  shall  write  on  Monday 
and  tell  you  We  are  always  a fortnight  in  advance  of 
the  public,  or  the  mechanical  work  could  not  be  done.  I 
think  there  are  many  things  in  it  that  are  very  pretty.  The 


286 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


Katie  part  is  particularly  well  done.  If  I don’t  say  more, 
it  is  because  I have  a heavy  sense,  in  all  cases,  of  the  re- 
sponsibility of  encouraging  anyone  to  enter  on  that  thorny 
track,  where  the  prizes  are  so  few  and  the  blanks  so  many  ; 
where 

But  I won’t  write  you  a sermon.  With  the  fire  going 
out,  and  the  first  shadows  of  a new  story  hovering  in  a 
ghostly  way  about  me  (as  they  usually  begin  to  do,  when 
I have  finished  an  old  one),  I am  in  danger  of  doing 
the  heavy  business,  and  becoming  a heavy  guardian,  or 
something  of  that  sort,  instead  of  the  light  and  airy 
Joe. 

So  good-night,  and  believe  that  you  may  always  trust 
me,  and  never  find  a grim  expression  (towards  you)  in  any 
that  I wear. 

Ever  yours. 

[7b  Mr.  David  Roberts j R.A.^ 

February  2\st^  1851. 

Oh  my  dear  Roberts,  if  you  knew  the  trouble  we  have 
had  and  the  money  we  pay  for  Drury  Lane  for  one  night 
for  the  benefit,  you  would  never  dream  of  it  for  the  dinner. 
There  isn  t possibility  of  getting  a theatre. 

I will  do  all  I can  for  your  charming  little  daughter,  and 
hope  to  squeeze  in  half-a-dozen  ladies  at  the  last ; but  we 
must  not  breathe  the  idea  or  we  shall  not  dare  to  execute 
it,  there  will  be  such  an  outcry. 


Faithfully  yours. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


287 


YTo  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready^ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  February  2^th,  1851. 
My  dear  Macready, 

Forster  told  me  to-day  that  you  wish  Tennyson's  sonnet 
to  be  read  after  your  health  is  given  on  Saturday.  I am 
perfectly  certain  that  it  would  not  do  at  that  time.  I am 
quite  convinced  that  the  audience  would  not  receive  it, 
under  these  exciting  circumstances,  as  it  ought  to  be  re- 
ceived. If  I had  to  read  it,  I would  on  no  account  under- 
take to  do  so  at  that  period,  in  a great  room  crowded  with 
a dense  company.  I have  an  instinctive  assurance  that  it 
would  fail.  Being  with  Bulwer  this  morning,  I communi- 
cated your  wish  to  him,  and  he  immediately  felt  as  I do. 
I could  enter  into  many  reasons  which  induce  me  to  form 
this  opinion.  But  I believe  that  you  have  that  confidence 
in  me  that  I may  spare  you  the  statement  of  them. 

I want  to  know  one  thing  from  you.  As  I shall  be 
obliged  to  be  at  the  London  Tavern  in  the  afternoon  of  to- 
morrow, Friday  (I  write,  observe,  on  Thursday  night),  I 
shall  be  much  helped  in  the  arrangements  if  you  will  send 
me  your  answer  by  a messenger  (addressed  here)  on  the 
receipt  of  this.  Which  would  you  prefer — that  ^^Auld 
Lang  Syne  " should  be  sung  after  your  health  is  given  and 
before  you  return  thanks,  or  after  you  have  spoken  ? 

I cannot  forbear  a word  about  last  night.  I think  I 
have  told  you  sometimes,  my  much-loved  friend,  how, 
when  I was  a mere  boy,  I was  one  of  your  faithful  and 
devoted  adherents  in  the  pit  ; I believe  as  true  a member 


288 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


of  that  true  host  of  followers  as  it  has  ever  boasted.  As  I 
improved  myself  and  was  improved  by  favouring  circum- 
stances in  mind  and  fortune,  I only  became  the  more  earn- 
est (if  it  were  possible)  in  my  study  of  you.  No  light 
portion  of  my  life  arose  before  me  when  the  quiet  vision  to 
which  I am  beholden,  in  I don't  know  how  great  a degree, 
or  for  how  much — who  does  ? — faded  so  nobly  from  my 
bodily  eyes  last  night.  And  if  I were  to  try  to  tell  you 
what  I felt — of  regret  for  its  being  past  for  ever,  and  of 
joy  in  the  thought  that  you  could  have  taken  your  leave 
of  me  but  in  God’s  own  time — I should  only  blot  this 
paper  with  some  drops  that  would  certainly  not  be  of  ink, 
and  give  very  faint  expression  to  very  strong  emotions. 

What  is  all  this  in  writing  ! It  is  only  some  sort  of  re- 
lief to  my  full  heart,  and  shows  very  little  of  it  to  you  ; but 
that’s  something,  so  I let  it  go. 

Ever,  my  dearest  Macready, 

Your  most  affectionate  Friend. 

P.S. — My  very  flourish  departs  from  me  for  the  mo- 
ment. 


[7b  Mr.  David  Roberts^  R.A?[ 

Knutsford  Lodge,  Great  Malvern,  March  20th,  1851. 
My  dear  Roberts, 

Mrs.  Dickens  has  been  unwell,  and  I am  here  with  her. 
I want  you  to  give  a quarter  of  an  hour  to  the  perusal  of 
the  enclosed  prospectus  ; to  consider  the  immense  value 
of  the  design,  if  it  be  successful,  to  artists  young  and  old ; 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


289 


and  then  to  bestow  your  favourable  consideration  on  the 
assistance  I am  going  to  ask  of  you  for  the  sake  and  in 
the  name  of  the  cause. 

For  the  representation  of  the  new  comedy  Bulwer  has 
written  for  us,  to  start  this  scheme,  I am  having  an  in- 
genious theatre  made  by  Webster’s  people,  for  erection  on 
certain  nights  in  the  Hanover  Square  Rooms.  But  it 
will  first  be  put  up  in  the  Duke  of  Devonshire’s  house, 
where  the  first  representation  will  take  place  before  a 
brilliant  company,  including  (I  believe)  the  Queen. 

Now,  will  you  paint  us  a scene — the  scene  of  which  I 
enclose  Bulwer’s  description  from  the  prompter’s  book  ? It 
will  be  a cloth  with  a set-piece.  It  should  be  sent  to  your 
studio  or  put  up  in  a theatre  painting-room,  as  you  would 
prefer.  I have  asked  Stanny  to  do  another  scene,  Edwin 
Landseer,  and  Louis  Haghe.  The  Devonshire  House  per- 
formance will  probably  be  on  Monday,  the  28th  of  April. 
I should  want  to  have  the  scenery  complete  by  the  20th, 
as  it  would  require  to  be  elaborately  worked  and  rehearsed. 
You  could  do  it  in  no  time  after  sending  in  your  pictures, 
and  will  you  ? 

What  the  value  of  such  aid  would  be  I need  not  say. 
I say  no  more  of  the  reasons  that  induce  me  to  ask  it, 
because  if  they  are  not  in  the  prospectus  they  are  no- 
where. 

On  Monday  and  Tuesday  nights  I shall  be  in  town  for 
rehearsal,  but  until  then  I shall  be  here.  Will  you  let  me 
have  a line  from  you  in  reply  ? 

My  dear  Roberts,  ever  faithfully  yours. 

VoL.  I. — 13 


290 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  .DICKENS. 


Description  of  the  Scene  proposed  : 

Streets  of  London  in  the  time  of  George  I. 

In  perspective,  an  alley  inscribed  Deadman’s  Lane  ; a large,  old- 
fashioned,  gloomy,  mysterious  house  in  the  corner,  marked  No.  i. 
{This  No.  I,  Deadman  s Lane^  has  been  constantly  referred  to  in  the 
play  as  the  abode  of  a niysterious  fe7nale  figure^  who  enters  masked^  and 
passes  into  this  house  on  the  scene  being  disclosed  1)  It  is  night,  and 
there  are  moonlight  mediums. 

\To  Mrs.  Charles  Dickensl\ 

H.  W.  Office,  Monday,  March  26th,  1851. 
My  dearest  Kate, 

I reserve  all  news  of  the  play  until  I come  down.  The 
Queen  appoints  the  30th  of  April.  There  is  no  end  of 
trouble. 

My  father  slept  well  last  night,  and  is  as  well  this  morn- 
ing (they  send  word)  as  anyone  in  such  a state,  so  cut  and 
slashed,  can  be.  I have  been  waiting  at  home  for  Bulwer 
air  the  morning  (it  is  now  two),  and  am  now  waiting  for 
Lemon  before  I go  up  there.  I will  not  close  this  note 
until  I have  been. 

It  is  raining  here  incessantly.  The  streets  are  in  a most 
miserable  state.  A van,  containing  the  goods  of  some  un- 
fortunate family  moving,  has  broken  down  close  outside, 
and  the  whole  scene  is  a picture  of  dreariness. 

The  children  are  quite  well  and  very  happy.  I had 
Dora  down  this  morning,  who  was  quite  charmed  to  see 
me.  That  Miss  Ketteridge  appointed  two  to-day  for  see- 
ing the  house,  and  probably  she  is  at  this  moment  dispar- 
aging it. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  29 1 

My  father  is  very  weak  and  low,  but  not  worse,  I hope, 
than  might  be  expected.  I am  going  home  to  dine  with 
the  children.  By  working  here  late  to-night  (coming  back 
after  dinner)  I can  finish  what  I have  to  do  for  the  play. 
Therefore  I hope  to  be  with  you  to-morrow,  in  good  time 
for  dinner. 

Ever  affectionately. 

P.S. — Love  to  Georgy. 

[7h  Mr.  W.  H.  Wills. \ 

Devonshire  Terrace,  Thursday  Morning,  April %rd,  1851. 
My  dear  Wills, 

I took  my  threatened  walk  last  night,  but  it  yielded  little 
but  generalities. 

However,  I thought  of  something  for  to-night.,  that  I 
think  will  make  a splendid  paper.  I have  an  idea  that  it 
might  be  connected  with  the  gas  paper  (making  gas  a great 
agent  in  an  effective  police),  and  made  one  of  the  articles. 
This  is  it  : Night  in  a Station-house.'’  If  you  would 

go  down  to  our  friend  Mr.  Yardley,  at  Scotland  Yard,  and 
get  a letter  or  order  to  the  acting  chief  authority  at  that 
station-house  in  Bow  Street,  to  enable  us  to  hear  the 
charges,  observe  the  internal  economy  of  the  station-house 
all  night,  go  round  to  the  cells  with  the  visiting  policeman, 
etc.,  I would  stay  there,  say  from  twelve  to-night  to  four 
or  five  in  the  morning.  We  might  have  a ‘‘night-cap,”  a 
fire,  and  some  tea  at  the  office  hard  by.  If  you  could  con- 
veniently borrow  an  hour  or  two  from  the  night  we  could 
both  go.  If  not,  I would  go  alone.  It  would  make  a won- 


292 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


derful  good  paper  at  a most  appropriate  time,  when  the 
back  slums  of  London  are  going  to  be  invaded  by  all  sorts 
of  strangers. 

You  needn’t  exactly  say  that  I was  going  in  propria 
(unless  it  were  necessary),  and,  of  course,  you  wouldn’t  say 
that  I propose  to-night,  because  I am  so  worn  by  the  sad 
arrangements  in  which  I am  engaged,  and  by  what  led  ta 
them,  that  I cannot  take  my  natural  rest.  But  to-morrow 
night  we  go  to  the  gas-works.  I might  not  be  so  disposed 
for  this  station-house  observation  as  I shall  be  to-night 
for  a long  time,  and  I see  a most  singular  and  admirable 
chance  for  us  in  the  descriptive  way,  not  to  be  lost. 

Therefore,  if  you  will  arrange  the  thing  before  I come 
down  at  four  this  afternoon,  any  of  the  Scotland  Yard 
people  will  do  it,  I should  think  ; if  our  friend  by  any  ac- 
cident should  not  be  there,  I will  go  into  it. 

If  they  should  recommend  any  other  station-house  as 
better  for  the  purpose,  or  would  think  it  better  for  us  to  go 
to  more  than  one  under  the  guidance  of  some  trustworthy 
man,  of  course  we  will  pay  any  man  and  do  as  they  rec- 
ommend. But  I think  one  topping  station-house  would 
be  best. 

Faithfully  ever. 

P.S. — I write  from  my  bed. 

[7h  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready^ 

Saturday^  May  2^th,  1851. 

My  dear  Macready, 

We  are  getting  in  a good  heap  of  money  for  the  Guild. 
The  comedy  has  been  very  much  improved,  in  many  re- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


293 


spects,  since  you  read  it.  The  scene  to  which  you  refer  is 
certainly  one  of  the  most  telling  in  the  play.  And  there 
is  a farce  to  be  produced  on  Tuesday  next,  wherein  a dis- 
tinguished amateur  will  sustain  a variety  of  assumption- 
parts,  and  in  particular,  Samuel  Weller  and  Mrs.  Gamp,  of 
which  I say  no  more.  I am  pining  for  Broadstairs,  where 
the  children  are  at  present.  I lurk  from  the  sun,  during 
the  best  part  of  the  day,  in  a villainous  compound  of  dark- 
ness, canvas,  sawdust,  general  dust,  stale  gas  (involving  a 
vague  smell  of  pepper),  and  disenchanted  properties.  But 
I hope  to  get  down  on  Wednesday  or  Thursday. 

Ah  ! you  country  gentlemen,  who  live  at  home  at  ease, 
how  little,  do  you  think  of  us  among  the  London  fleas  ! 
But  they  tell  me  you  are  coming  in  for  Dorsetshire.  You 
must  be  very  careful,  when  you  come  to  town  to  attend  to 
your  parliamentary  duties,  never  to  ask  your  way  of  people 
in  the  streets.  They  will  misdirect  you  for  what  the  vul- 
gar call  ^^a  lark,”  meaning,  in  this  connection,  a jest  at 
your  expense.  Always  go  into  some  respectable  shop  or 
apply  to  a policeman.  You  will  know  him  by  his  being 
dressed  in  blue,  with  very  dull  silver  buttons,  and  by  the 
top  of  his  hat  being  made  of  sticking-plaster.  You  may 
perhaps  see  in  some  odd  place  an  intelligent-looking  man, 
with  a curious  little  wooden  table  before  him  and  three 
thimbles  on  it.  He  will  want  you  to  bet,  but  don’t  do  it. 
He  really  desires  to  cheat  you.  And  don’t  buy  at  auctions 
where  the  best  plated  goods  are  being  knocked  down  for 
next  to  nothing.  These,  too,  are  delusions.  If  you  wish  to 
go  to  the  play  to  see  real  good  acting  (though  a little  more 


294 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


subdued  than  perfect  tragedy  should  be),  I would  recom- 
mend you  to  see at  the  Theatre  Royal,  Drury  Lane. 

Anybody  will  show  it  to  you.  It  is  near  the  Strand,  and 
you  may  know  it  by  seeing  no  company  whatever  at  any  of 
the  doors.  Cab  fares  are  eightpence  a mile.  A mile  Lon- 
don measure  is  half  a Dorsetshire  mile,  recollect.  Porter 
is  twopence  per  pint  ; what  is  called  stout  is  fourpence. 
The  Zoological  Gardens  are  in  the  Regent’s  Park,  and  the 
price  of  admission  is  one  shilling.  Of  the  streets,  I would 
recommend  you  to  see  Regent  Street  and  the  Quadrant, 
Bond  Street,  Piccadilly,  Oxford  Street,  and  Cheapside.  I 
think  these  will  please  you  after  a time,  though  the  tumult 
and  bustle  will  at  first  bewilder  you.  If  I can  serve  you 
in  any  way,  pray  command  me.  And  with  my  best  regards 
to  your  happy  family,  so  remote  from  this  Babel, 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Friend, 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 

P.S. — I forgot  to  mention  just  now  that  the  black  eques- 
trian figure  you  will  see  at  Charing  Cross,  as  you  go  down 
to  the  House,  is  a statue  of  King  Charles  the  First. 

\_To  the  Earl  of  Carlisle i\ 

Broadstairs,  July  1851. 

My  dear  Lord  Carlisle, 

We  shall  be  delighted  to  see  you,  if  you  will  come  down 
on  Saturday.  Mr.  Lemon  may  perhaps  be  here,  with  his 
wife,  but  no  one  else.  And  we  can  give  you  a bed  that 
may  be  surpassed,  with  a welcome  that  certainly  cannot  be. 

The  general  character  of  Broadstairs  as  to  size  and  ac- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  295 

commodation  was  happily  expressed  by  Miss  Eden,  when 
she  wrote  to  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  (as  he  told  me),  say- 
ing how  grateful  she  felt  to  a certain  sailor,  who  asked 
leave  to  see  her  garden,  for  not  plucking  it  bodily  up,  and 
sticking  it  in  his  button-hole. 

As  we  think  of  putting  mignonette-boxes  outside  the 
windows,  for  the  younger  children  to  sleep  in  by-and-by,  I 
am  afraid  we  should  give  your  servant  the  cramp  if  we 
hardily  undertook  to  lodge  him.  But  in  case  you  should 
decide  to  bring  one,  he  is  easily  disposable  hard  by. 

Don’t  come  by  the  boat.  It  is  rather  tedious,  and  both 
departs  and  arrives  at  inconvenient"  hours.  There  is  a 
railway  train  from  the  Dover  terminus  to  Ramsgate,  at 
half-past  twelve  in  the  day,  which  will  bring  you  in  three 
hours.  Another  at  half-past  four  in  the  afternoon.  If  you 
will  tell  me  by  which  you  come  (I  hope  the  former),  I will 
await  you  at  the  terminus  with  my  little  brougham. 

You  will  have  for  a night-light  in  the  room  we  shall  give 
you,  the  North  Foreland  lighthouse.  That  and  the  sea 
and  air  are  our  only  lions.  It  is  a very  rough  little  place, 
but  a very  pleasant  ane,  and  you  will  make  it  pleasanter 
than  ever  to  me. 

Faithfully  yours  always. 

[7h  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson.] 

Broadstairs,  Kent,  July  11th,  1851. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

I am  so  desperately  indignant  with  you  for  writing  me 
that  short  apology  for  a note,  and  pretending  to  suppose 


LETTERS  OE  C/LA  REES  DICKENS. 


295 

that  under  any  circumstances  I could  fail  to  read  with  in- 
terest anything  you  wrote  to  me,  that  I have  more  than 
half  a mind  to  inflict  a regular  letter  upon  you.  If  I were 
not  the  gentlest  of  men  I should  do  it ! 

Poor  dear  Haldimand,  I have  thought  of  him  so  often. 
That  kind  of  decay  is  so  inexpressibly  affecting  and  piteous 
to  me,  that  I have  no  words  to  express  my  compassion  and 
sorrow.  When  I was  at  Abbotsford,  I saw  in  a vile  glass 
case  the  last  clothes  Scott  wore.  Among  them  an  old  white 
hat,  which  seemed  to  be  tumbled  and  bent  and  broken  by 
the  uneasy,  purposeless  wandering,  hither  and  thither,  of 
his  heavy  head.  It  so  embodied  Lockhart’s  pathetic  de- 
scription of  him  when  he  tried  to  write,  and  laid  down  his 
pen  and  cried,  that  it  associated  itself  in  my  mind  with 
broken  powers  and  mental  weakness  from  that  hour.  I 
fancy  Haldimand  in  such  another,  going  listlessly  about 
that  beautiful  place,  and  remembering  the  happy  hours  we 
have  i^assed  with  him,  and  his  goodness  and  truth.  I think 
what  a dream  we  live  in,  until  it  seems  for  the  moment  the 
saddest  dream  that  ever  was  dreamed.  Pray  tell  us  if  you 
hear  more  of  him.  We  really  loved ‘him. 

To  go  to  the  opposite  side  of  life,  let  me  tell  you  that  a 
week  or  so  ago  I took  Charley  and  three  of  his  schoolfel- 
lows down  the  river  gipsying.  I secured  the  services  of 
Charley’s  godfather  (an  old  friend  of  mine,  and  a noble 
fellow  with  boys),  and  went  down  to  Slough,  accompanied 
by  two  immense  hampers  from  Fortnum  and  Mason,  on 
(I  believe)  the  wettest  morning  ever  seen  out  of  the  tropics. 

It  cleared  before  we  got  to  Slough  ; but  the  boys,  who 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


297 


had  got  up  at  four  (we  being  due  at  eleven),  had  horrible 
misgivings  that  we  might  not  come,  in  consequence  of 
which  we  saw  them  looking  into  the  carriages  before  us, 
all  face.  They  seemed  to  have  no  bodies  whatever,  but 
to  be  all  face  ; their  countenances  lengthened  to  that  sur- 
prising extent.  When  they  saw  us,  the  faces  shut  up  as  if 
they  were  upon  strong  springs,  and  their  waistcoats  devel- 
oped themselves  in  the  usual  places.  When  the  first  ham- 
per came  out  of  the  luggage-van,  I was  conscious  of  their 
dancing  behind  the  guard  ; when  the  second  came  out 
with  bottles  in  it,  they  all  stood  wildly  on  one  leg.  We 
then  got  a couple  of  flys  to  drive  to  the  boat-house.  I 
put  them  in  the  first,  but  they  couldn’t  sit  still  a moment, 
and  were  perpetually  flying  up  and  down  like  the  toy  fig- 
ures in  the  sham  snuff-boxes.  In  this  order  we  went  on  to 
^^Tom  Brown’s,  the  tailor’s,”  where  they  all  dressed  in 
aquatic  costume,  and  then  to  the  boat-house,  where  they 
all  cried  in  shrill  chorus  for  “ Mahogany  ” — a gentleman, 
so  called  by  reason  of  his  sunburnt  complexion,  a water- 
man by  profession.  (He  was  likewise  called  during  the 
day  “ Hog  ” and  Hogany,”  and  seemed  to  be  unconscious 
of  any  proper  name  whatsoever.)  We  embarked,  the 
sun  shining  now,  in  a galley  with  a striped  awning,  which 
I had  ordered  for  the  purpose,  and  all  rowing  hard,  went 
down  the  river.  We  dined  in  a field  ; what  I suffered  for 
fear  those  boys  should  get  drunk,  the  struggles  I under- 
went in  a contest  of  feeling  between  hospitality  and  pru- 
dence, must  ever  remain  untold.  I feel,  even  now,  old 
with  the  anxiety  of  that  tremendous  hour.  They  were 
VoL.  1.-13^ 


298  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS 


very  good,  however.  The  speech  of  one  became  thick, 
and  his  eyes  too  like  lobsters’  to  be  comfortable,  but  only 
temporarily.  He  recovered,  and  I suppose  outlived  the 
salad  he  took.  I have  heard  nothing  to  the  contrary,  and 
I imagine  I should  have  been  implicated  on  the  inquest  if 
there  had  been  one.  We  had  tea  and  rashers  of  bacon  at 
a public-house,  and  came  home,  the  last  five  or  six  miles 
in  a prodigious  thunderstorm.  This  was  the  great  success 
of  the  day,  which  they  certainly  enjoyed  more  than  any- 
thing else.  The  dinner  had  been  great,  and  Mahogany  had 
informed  them,  after  a bottle  of  light  champagne,  that  he 
never  would  come  up  the  river  with  ginger  company  ” 
any  more.  But  the  getting  so  completely  wet  through  was 
the  culminating  part  of  the  entertainment.  You  never  in 
your  life  saw  such  objects  as  they  were  ; and  their  perfect 
unconsciousness  that  it  was  at  all  advisable  to  go  home  and 
change,  or  that  there  was  anything  to  prevent  their  stand- 
ing at  the  station  two  mortal  hours  to  see  me  off,  was  won- 
derful. As  to  getting  them  to  their  dames  with  any  sort  of 
sense  that  they  were  damp,  I abandoned  the  idea.  I thought 
it  a success  when  they  went  down  the  street  as  civilly  as  if 
they  were  just  up  and  newly  dressed,  though  they  really 
looked  as  if  you  could  have  rubbed  them  to  rags  with  a 
touch,  like  saturated  curl-paper. 

I am  sorry  you  have  not  been  able  to  see  our  play,  which 
I suppose  you  won’t  now,  for  I take  it  you  are  not  going 
on  Monday,  the  21st,  our  last  night  in  town  ? It  is  worth 
seeing,  not  for  the  getting  up  (which  modesty  forbids  me 
to  approve),  but  for  the  little  bijou  it  is,  in  the  scenery. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


299 


dresses,  and  appointments.  They  are  such  as  never  can 
be  got  together  again,  because  such  men  as  Stanfield, 
Roberts,  Grieve,  Haghe,  Egg,  and  others,  never  can  be 
again  combined  in  such  a work.  Everything  has  been 
done  at  its  best  from  all  sorts  of  authorities,  and  it  is  really 
very  beautiful  to  look  at. 

I find  I am  used  up  by  the  exhibition.  I don’t  say 
there  is  nothing  in  it  ” — there’s  too  much,  I have  only 
been  twice  ; so  many  things  bewildered  me.  I have  a 
natural  horror  of  sights,  and  the  fusion  of  so  many  sights  in 
one  has  not  decreased  it.  I am  not  sure  that  1 have  seen 
anything  but  the  fountain  and  perhaps  the  Amazon.  It  is 
a dreadful  thing  to  be  obliged  to  be  false,  but  when  any- 
one says,  Have  you  seen ? ” I say,  Yes,”  because 

if  I don’t,  I know  he’ll  explain  it,  and  I can’t  bear  that. 
took  all  the  school  one  day.  The  school  was  com- 
posed of  a hundred  infants,”  who  got  among  the  horses’ 
legs  in  coming  to  the  main  entrance  from  the  Kensington 
Gate,  and  came  walking  from  between  the  wheels  of 
coaches  undisturbed  in  mind  ; got  among  the  horses’  legs 
in  crossing  to  the  main  entrance  from  the  Kensington  Gate, 
and  came  reeling  out  from  between  the  wheels  of  coaches 
undisturbed  in  mind.  They  were  clinging  to  horses,  I am 
told,  all  over  the  park. 

When  they  were  collected  and  added  up  by  the  frantic 
monitors,  they  were  all  right.  They  were  then  regaled  with 
cake,  etc.,  and  went  tottering  and  staring  all  over  the 
place  ; the  greater  part  wetting  their  forefingers  and  draw- 
ing a wavy  pattern  on  every  accessible  object.  One  infant 


300 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


Strayed.  He  was  not  missed.  Ninety  and  nine  were 
taken  home,  supposed  to  be  the  whole  collection,  but  this 
particular  infant  went  to  Hammersmith.  He  was  found 
by  the  police  at  night,  going  round  and  round  the  turn- 
pike, which  he  still  supposed  to  be  a part  of  the  Exhibi- 
tion. He  had  the  same  opinion  of  the  police,  also  of  Ham- 
mersmith workhouse,  where  he  passed  the  night.  When 
his  mother  came  for  him  in  the  morning,  he  asked  when  it 
would  be  over  ? It  was  a great  Exhibition,  he  said,  but  he 
thought  it  long. 

As  I begin  to  have  a foreboding  that  you  will  think  the 
same  of  this  act  of  vengeance  of  mine,  this  present  letter,  I 
shall  make  an  end  of  it,  with  my  heartiest  and  most  loving 
remembrances  to  Watson.  I should  have  liked  him  of  all 
things  to  have  been  in  the  Eton  expedition,  tell  him,  and 
to  have  heard  a song  (by-the-bye,  I have  forgotten  that) 
sung  in  the  thunderstorm,  solos  by  Charley,  chorus  by 
the  friends,  describing  the  career  of  a booby  who  was 
plucked  at  college,  every  verse  ending  : 


I don’t  care  a fig  what  the  people  may  think, 
But  what  WILL  the  governor  say  ! 


which  was  shouted  with  a deferential  jollity  towards  my- 
self, as  a governor  who  had  that  day  done  a creditable  ac- 
tion, and  proved  himself  worthy  of  all  confidence. 

With  love  to  the  boys  and  girls. 

Ever,  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Most  sincerely  yours. 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICICENS, 


301 


[ To  Mr.  Frank  Stone 

“ Household  Words,”  Sunday^  July  20th,  1851. 
My  dear  Stone, 

I have  been  considering  the  great  house  question  since 
you  kindly  called  yesterday  evening,  and  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  I had  better  not  let  it  go.  I am  convinced  it 
is  the  prudent  thing  for  me  to  do,  and  that  I am  very  un- 
likely to  find  the  same  comforts  for  the  rising  generation 
elsewhere,  for  the  same  money.  Therefore,  as  Robins  no 
doubt  understands  that  you  would  come  to  me  yesterday 
— passing  his  life  as  he  does  amidst  every  possible  phase 
of  such  negotiations — I think  it  hardly  worth  while  to  wait 
for  the  receipt  of  his  coming  letter.  If  you  will  take  the 
trouble  to  call  on  him  in  the  morning,  and  offer  the 
^1,450,  I shall  be  very  much  obliged  to  you.  If  you  will 
receive  from  me  full  power  to  conclude  the  purchase  (sub- 
ject of  course  to  my  solicitor’s  approval  of  the  lease),  pray 
do.  I give  you  carte  blanche  to  1,5  00,  but  I think  the 
^^1,450  ought  to  win  the  day. 

I don’t  make  any  apologies  for  thrusting  this  honour 
upon  you,  knowing  what  a thorough-going  old  pump 
you  are.  Lemon  and  his  wife  are  coming  here,  after 
the  rehearsal,  to  a gipsy  sort  of  cold  dinner.  Time,  half- 
past three.  Viands,  pickled  salmon  and  cold  pigeon-pie. 
Occupation  afterwards,  lying  on  the  carpet  as  a preparation 
for  histrionic  strength.  Will  you  come  with  us  from  the 
Hanover  Square  Rooms  ? 


Ever  affectionately. 


302 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


[ To  Mr.  Charles  Knight l\ 

Broadstairs,  Kent,  Sunday,  July  2^th,  1851. 
My  dear  Knight, 

A most  excellent  shadow  ! * I have  sent  it  up  to  the 
printer,  and  Wills  is  to  send  you  a proof.  Will  you  look 
carefully  at  all  the  earlier  part,  where  the  use  of  the  past 
tense  instead  of  the  present  a little  hurts  the  picturesque 
effect  ? I understand  each  phase  of  the  thing  to  be  always 
a thing  present  before  the  mind's  eye — a shadow  passing  be- 
fore it.  Whatever  is  done,  must  be  doing.  Is  it  not  so  ? 
For  example,  if  I did  the  Shadow  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  I 
should  not  say  he  %vas  a boy  at  Hull,  when  his  father  lec- 
tured him  about  going  to  sea,  and  so  forth  ; but  he  is  a 
boy  at  Hull.  There  he  is,  in  that  particular  Shadow, 
eternally  a boy  at  Hull ; his  life  to  me  is  a series  of  shad- 
ows, but  there  is  no  was ''  in  the  case.  If  I choose  to  go 
to  his  manhood,  I can.  These  shadows  don’t  change  as 
realities  do.  No  phase  of  his  existence  passes  away,  if  I 
choose  to  bring  it  to  this  unsubstantial  and  delightful  life, 
the  only  death  of  which,  to  me,  is  my  death,  and  thus  he  is 
immortal  to  unnumbered  thousands.  If  I am  right,  will 
you  look  at  the  proof  through  the  first  third  or  half  of  the 
papers,  and  see  whether  the  Factor  comes  before  us  in  that 
way  ? If  not,  it  is  merely  the  alteration  of  the  verb  here 
and  there  that  is  requisite. 

You  say  you  are  coming  down  to  look  for  a place  next 

* Mr.  Charles  Knight  was  writing  a series  of  papers  in  “ Household  Words,” 
called  “Shadows.” 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


303 


week.  Now,  Jerrold  says  he  is  coming  on  Thursday,  by 
the  cheap  express  at  half-past  twelve,  to  return  with  me 
for  the  play  early  on  Monday  morning.  Can’t  you  make 
that  holiday  too  ? I have  promised  him  our  only  spare 
bed,  but  we’ll  find  you  a bed  hard  by,  and  shall  be  de- 
lighted ^To  eat  and  drink  you,”  as  an  American  once  wrote 
to  me.  We  will  make  expeditions  to  Herne  Bay,  Canter- 
bury, where  not  ? and  drink  deep  draughts  of  fresh  air. 
Come  ! They  are  beginning  to  cut  the  corn.  You  will 
never  see  the  country  so  pretty.  If  you  stay  in  town  these 
days,  you’ll  do  nothing.  I feel  convinced  you’ll  not  buy 
the  “ Memoirs  of  a Man  of  Quality.”  Say  you’ll  come  ! 

Ever  affectionately. 

[ To  Mr.  Frank  Stone ?[ 

Broadstairs,  Kent,  Saturday.,  August  22>rd,  1851. 
My  dear  Stone, 

A dim  vision  ” occurs  to  me,  arising  out  of  your  note  ; 
also  presents  itself  to  the  brains  of  my  other  half. 

Supposing  you  should  find,  on  looking  onward,  a possi- 
bility of  your  being  houseless  at  Michaelmas,  what  do  you 
say  to  using  Devonshire  Terrace  as  a temporary  encamp- 
ment ? It  will  not  be  in  its  usual  order,  but  we  would  take 
care  that  there  should  be  as  much  useful  furniture  of  all 
sorts  there,  as  to  render  it  unnecessary  for  you  to  move 
a stick.  If  you  should  think  this  a convenience,  then  I 
should  propose  to  you  to  pile  your  furniture  in  the  middle 
of  the  rooms  at  Tavistock  House,  and  go  out  to  Devon- 
shire Terrace  two  or  three  weeks  before  Michaelmas,  to 


304 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


enable  my  workmen  to  commence  their  operations.  This 
might  be  to  our  mutual  convenience,  and  therefore  I sug- 
gest it.  Certainly  the  sooner  I can  begin  on  Tavistock 
House  the  better.  And  possibly  your  going  into  Devonshire 
Terrace  might  relieve  you  from  a difficulty  that  would 
otherwise  be  perplexing. 

I make  this  suggestion  (I  need  not  say  \.o  yov)  solely  on 
the  chance  of  its  being  useful  to  both  of  us.  If  it  were 
merely  convenient  to  me,  you  know  I shouldn’t  dream  of 
it.  Such  an  arrangement,  while  it  would  cost  you  noth- 
ing, would  perhaps  enable  you  to  get  your  new  house 
into  order  comfortably,  and  do  exactly  the  same  thing  for 
me. 

Ever  affectionately. 

P.S. — I anticipated  your  suggestion  some  weeks  ago, 
when  I found  I couldn’t  build  a stable.  I said  I ought  to 
have  permission  to  take  the  piece  of  ground  into  my  gar- 
den, which  was  conceded.  Loaden  writes  me  this  morning 
that  he  thinks  he  can  get  permission  to  build  a stable  one 
storey  high,  without  a chimney.  I reply  that  on  the  whole 
I would  rather  enlarge  the  garden  than  build  a stable  with 
those  restrictions. 

\To  Mr,  Henry  AustinS\  - 

Broadstairs,  Sunday,  September  ^th,  1851. 

My  dear  Henry, 

I am  in  that  state  of  mind  which  you  may  (once)  have 
seen  described  in  the  newspapers  as  ‘‘  bordering  on  dis- 
traction ; ” the  house  given  up  to  me,  the  fine  weather  going 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


305 


on  (soon  to  break,  I daresay),  the  painting  season  oozing 
away,  my  new  book  waiting  to  be  born,  and 

NO  WORKMEN  ON  THE  PREMISES, 

along  of  my  not  hearing  from  you  ! ! I have  torn  all  my 
hair  off,  and  constantly  beat  my  unoffending  family.  Wild 
notions  have  occurred  to  me  of  sending  in  my  own  plumber 
to  do  the  drains.  Then  I remember  that  you  have  prob- 
ably written  to  prepare  your  man,  and  restrain  my  au- 
dacious hand.  Then  Stone  presents  himself,  with  a most 
exasperatingly  mysterious  visage,  and  says  that  a rat  has 
appeared  in  the  kitchen,  and  it’s  his  opinion  (Stone’s,  not 
the  rat’s)  that  the  drains  want  “ compo-ing  ; ” for  the  use 
of  which  explicit  language  I could  fell  him  without  remorse. 
In  my  horrible  desire  to  compo  ” everything,  the  very 
postman  becomes  my  enemy  because  he  brings  no  letter 
from  you  ; and,  in  short,  I don’t  see  what’s  to  become  of 
me  unless  I hear  .from  you  to-morrow,  which  I have  not 
the  least  expectation  of  doing. 

Going  over  the  house  again,  I have  materially  altered 
the  plans — abandoned  conservatory  and  front  balcony — 
decided  to  make  Stone’s  painting-room  the  drawing-room 
(it  is  nearly  six  inches  higher  than  the  room  below),  to 
carry  the  entrance  passage  right  through  the  house  to  a 
back  door  leading  to  the  garden,  and  to  reduce  the  once 
intended  drawing-room — now  school-room — to  a manage- 
able size,  making  a door  of  communication  between  the 
new  drawing-room  and  the  study.  Curtains  and  carpets, 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


306 

on  a scale  of  awful  splendour  and  magnitude,  are  already 
in  preparation,  and  still — still — 

NO  WORKMEN  ON  THE  PREMISES. 

To  pursue  this  theme  is  madness.  Where  are  you  ? 
When  are  you  coming  home  ? Where  is  the  man  who  is 
to  do  the  work  ? Does  he  know  that  an  army  of  artificers 
must  be  turned  in  at  once,  and  the  whole  thing  finished 
out  of  hand  ? O rescue  me  from  my  present  condition. 
Come  up  to  the  scratch,  I entreat  and  implore  you  ! 

I send  this  to  Laetitia  to  forward. 

Being,  as  you  well  know  why, 

Completely  floored  by  N.  W.,  I 
Sleep. 

I hope  you  may  be  able  to  read  this.  My  state  of  mind 
does  not  admit  of  coherence. 

Ever  affectionately. 

P.S. No  WORKMEN  ON  THE  PREMISES. 

Ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! (I  am  laughing  demoniacally.) 

\To  Mr.  Henry  Austin?^ 

Broadstairs,  Sunday^  September  list ^ 1851. 
My  dear  Henry, 

It  is  quite  clear  we  could  do  nothing  else  with  the  drains 
than  what  you  have  done.  Will  it  be  at  all  a heavy  item 
in  the  estimate  ? 

If  there  be  the  least  chance  of  a necessity  for  the  pillar, 
let  us  have  it.  Let  us  dance  in  peace,  whatever  we  do, 
and  only  go  into  the  kitchen  by  the  staircase. 

Have  they  cut  the  door  between  the  drawing-room  and 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


307 


the  study  yet  ? The  foreman  will  let  Shoolbred  know  when 
the  feat  is  accomplished. 

0 ! and  did  you  tell  him  of  another  brass  ventilator  in 
the  dining-room,  opening  into  the  dining-room  flue  ? 

1 don’t  think  I shall  come  to  town  until  you  want  to  show 
the  progress,  whenever  that  may  be.  I shall  look  forward 
to  another  dinner,  and  I think  we  must  encourage  the  Ori- 
ental, for  the  goodness  of  its  wine. 

I am  getting  a complete  set  of  a certain  distinguished 
author’s  works  prepared  for  a certain  distinguished  archi- 
tect, which  I hope  he  will  accept,  as  a slight,  though  very 
inadequate,  etc.  etc.  ; affectionate,  etc.  ; so  heartily  and 
kindly  taking  so  much  interest,  etc.  etc. 

Love  to  Laetitia. 

Ever  affectionately. 

[7b  Mr.  Henry  Aiistin?[ 

Broadstairs,  Kent,  October  ’^th,  1851. 

My  dear  Henry, 

0 ! O ! O ! D the  Pantechnicon.  O ! 

1 will  be  at  Tavistock  House  at  twelve  on  Saturday,  and 
then  will  wait  for  you  until  I see  you.  If  we  return  to- 
gether— as  I hope  we  shall — our  express  will  start  at  half- 
past four,  and  we  ought  to  dine  (somewhere  about  Temple 
Bar)  at  three. 

The  infamous  says  the  stoves  shall  be  fixed  to- 

morrow. 

O ! if  this  were  to  last  long ; the  distraction  of  the  new 
book,  the  whirling  of  the  story  through  one’s  mind,  escorted 


3o8  letters  of  Charles  dlckens. 


by  workmen,  the  imbecility,  the  wild  necessity  of  beginning 
to  write,  the  not  being  able  to  do  so,  the,  O ! I should 
go O ! 


Ever  affectionately. 


P.S. — None.  I have  torn  it  off. 


[ Jh  Miss  Mary  Boylei\ 

Broadstairs,  Kent,  October  loth,  1851. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  HER  MOTHER. 

My  dear  Miss  Boyle, 

Your  remembrance  at  such  a time — not  thrown  away 
upon  me,  trust  me — is  a sufficient  assurance  that  you  know 
how  truly  I feel  towards  you,  and  with  what  an  earnest 
sympathy  I must  think  of  you  now. 

God  be  with  you  ! There  is  indeed  nothing  terrible  in 
such  a death,  nothing  that  we  would  undo,  nothing  that 
we  may  remember  otherwise  than  with  deeply  thankful, 
though  with  softened  hearts. 

Kate  sends  you  her  affectionate  love.  I enclose  a note 
from  Georgina.  Pray  give  my  kindest  remembrances  to 
your  brother  Cavendish,  and  believe  me  now  and  ever, 

Faithfully  your  Friend. 

/ 

[To  Mr,  Eeles?[ 


“ Household  Words  ” Office, 

Wednesday  Evenings  Oct.  22«^/,  1851* 

Dear  Mr.  Eeles, 

I send  you  the  list  I have  made  for  the  book-backs.  I 
should  like  the  History  of  a Short  Chancery  Suit  ” to 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICLCENS. 


309 


come  at  the  bottom  of  one  recess,  and  the  Catalogue  of 
Statues  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  ” at  the  bottom  of  the 
other.  If  you  should  want  more  titles,  and  will  let  me  know 
how  many,  I will  send  them  to  you. 

Faithfully  yours. 

LIST  OF  IMITATION  BOOK-BACKS. 

Tavistock  House ^ 1851. 


Five  Minutes  in  China.  3 vols. 
Forty  Winks  at  the  Pyramids. 
2 vols. 

Abernethy  on  the  Constitution. 
2 vols. 

Mr.  Green’s  Overland  Mail.  2 
vols. 

Captain  Cook’s  Life  of  Savage. 
2 vols. 

A Carpenter’s  Bench  of  Bishops. 
2 vols. 

Toot’s  Universal  Letter- Writer. 
2 vols. 

Orson’s  Art  of  Etiquette. 
Downeaster’s  Complete  Calcula- 
tor. 

History  of  the  Middling  Ages. 
6 vols. 

Jonah’s  Account  of  the  Whale. 
Captain  Parry’s  Virtues  of  Cold 
Tar. 

Kant’s  Ancient  Humbugs.  10 
vols. 

Bowwowdom.  A Poem. 

The  Quarrelly  Review.  4 vols. 
The  Gunpowder  Magazine.  4 
vols. 

Steele.  By  the  Author  of  “ Ion.” 
The  Art  of  Cutting  the  Teeth. 


Matthew’s  Nursery  Songs.  2 vols. 

Paxton’s  Bloomers.  5 vols. 

On  the  Use  of  Mercury  by  the 
Ancient  Poets. 

Drowsy’s  Recollections  of  Noth- 
ing.  3 vols. 

Heavyside’s  Conversations  with 
Nobody.  3 vols. 

Commonplace  Book  of  the  Oldest 
Inhabitant.  2 vols. 

Growler’s  Gruffiology,  with  Ap- 
pendix. 4 vols. 

The  Books  of  Moses  and  Sons. 
2 vols. 

Burke  (of  Edinburgh)  on  the  Sub- 
lime and  Beautiful.  2 vols. 

Teazer’s  Commentaries. 

King  Henry  the  Eighth’s  Evi- 
dences of  Christianity.  5 vols. 

Miss  Biffin  on  Deportment. 

Morrison’s  Pills  Progress.  2 vols. 

Lady  Godiva  on  the  Horse. 

Munchausen’s  Modern  Miracles. 
4 vols. 

Richardson’s  Show  of  Dramatic 
Literature.  12  vols. 

Hansard’s  Guide  to  Refreshing 
Sleep.  As  many  volumes  as 
possible. 


310 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


[ To  Mr,  Henry  Aicstin^ 

Office  of  “ Household  Words/' 

Saturday,  Oct.  25M,  1851. 

My  dear  Henry, 

On  the  day  of  our  departure,  I thought  we  were  going 
— backwards — at  a most  triumphant  pace  ; but  yesterday 
we  rather  recovered.  The  painters  still  mislaid  their 
brushes  every  five  minutes,  and  chiefly  whistled  in  the  in- 
tervals ; and  the  carpenters  (especially  the  Pantechnicon) 
continued  to  look  sideways  with  one  eye  down  pieces  of 
wood,  as  if  they  were  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  perspective  of  the  Thames  Tunnel,  and  had  entirely 
relinquished  the  vanities  of  this  transitory  world  ; but  still 
there  was  an  improvement,  and  it  is  confirmed  to-day. 
White  lime  is  to  .be  seen  in  kitchens,  the  bath-room  is 
gradually  resolving  itself  from  an  abstract  idea  into  a fact 
— youthful,  extremely  youthful,  but  a fact.  The  drawing- 
room encourages  no  hope  whatever,  nor  the  study.  Stair- 
case painted.  Irish  labourers  howling  in  the  school-room, 
but  I don’t  know  why.  I see  nothing.  Gardener  vigor- 
ously lopping  the  trees,  and  really  letting  in  the  light  and 
air.  Foreman  sweet-tempered  but  uneasy.  Inimitable 
hovering  gloomily  through  the  premises  all  day,  with  an 
idea  that  a little  more  work  is  done  when  he  flits,  bat-like, 
through  the  rooms,  than  when  there  is  no  one  looking  on. 
Catherine  all  over  paint.  Mister  McCann,  encountering 
Inimitable  in  doorways,  fades  obsequiously  into  areas,  and 
there  encounters  him  again,  and  swoons  with  confusion. 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS.  31I 

Several  reams  of  blank  paper  constantly  spread  on  the 
drawing-room  walls,  and  sliced  off  again,  which  looks  like 
insanity.  Two  men  still  clinking  at  the  new  stair-rails.  I 
think  they  must  be  learning  a tune  ; I cannot  make  out 
any  other  object  in  their  proceedings. 

Since  writing  the  above,  I have  been  up  there  again,  and 
found  the  young  paper-hanger  putting  on  his  slippers,  and 
looking  hard  at  the  walls  of  the  servants’  room  at  the  top 
of  the  house,  as  if  he  meant  to  paper  it  one  of  these  days. 
May  Heaven  prosper  his  intentions  ! 

When  do  you  come  back  ? I hope  soon. 

Ever  affectionately. 

\_To  Mrs.  Charles  Dickens^ 

Clifton,  November  13/-^,  1851. 

My  dearest  Kate, 

I have  just  received  your  second  letter,  and  am  quite 
delighted  to  find  that  all  is  going  on  so  vigorously,  and  that 
you  are  in  such  a methodical,  business-like,  and  energetic 
state.  I shall  come  home  by  the  express  on  Saturday 
morning,  and  shall  hope  to  be  at  home  between  eleven 
and  twelve. 

We  had  a noble  night  last  night.  The  room  (which  is 
the  largest  but  one  in  England)  was  crammed  in  every 
part.  The  effect  of  from  thirteen  to  fourteen  hundred 
people,  all  well  dressed,  and  all  seated  in  one  unbroken 
chamber,  except  that  the  floor  rose  high  towards  the  end 
of  the  hall,  was  most  splendid,  and  we  never  played  to  a 
better  audience.  The  enthusiasm  was  prodigious  ; the 


312  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

place  delightful  for  speaking  in  ^ no  end  of  gas  ; another 
hall  for  a dressing-room  ; an  immense  stage  ; and  every 
possible  convenience.  We  were  all  thoroughly  pleased,  1 
think,  with  the  whole  thing,  and  it  was  a very  great  and 
striking  success.  To-morrow-night,  having  the  new  Hard- 
man, I am  going  to  try  the  play  with  all  kinds  of  cuts, 
taking  out,  among  other  things,  some  half-dozen  printed 
pages  of  ‘^Wills’s  Coffee  House.'' 

W e are  very  pleasant  and  cheerful.  They  are  all  going 
to  Matthew  Davenport  Hill’s  to  lunch  this  morning,  and 
to  see  some  woods  about  six  or  seven  miles  off.  I prefer 
being  quiet,  and  shall  go  out  at  my  leisure  and  call  on 
Elliot.  We  are  very  well  lodged  and  boarded,  and,  living 
high  up  on  the  Downs,  are  quite  out  of  the  filth  of  Bristol. 

I saw  old  Landor  at  Bath,  who  has  bronchitis.  When 
he  was  last  in  town,  Kenyon  drove  him  about,  by  God, 
half  the  morning,  under  a most  damnable  pretence  of  tak- 
ing him  to  where  Walter  was  at  school,  and  they  never 
found  the  confounded  house  ! ” Ele  had  in  his  pocket  on 
that  occasion  a souvenir  for  Walter  in  the  form  of  a Union 
shirt-pin,  which  is  now  in  my  possession,  and  shall  be  duly 
brought  home. 

I am  tired  enough,  and  shall  be  glad  when  to-morrow 
night  is  over.  We  expect  a very  good  house.  Forster 
came  up  to  town  after  the  performance  last  night,  and  pro- 
mised to  report  to  you  that  all  was  well.  Jerrold  is  in 
extraordinary  force.  I don’t  think  I ever  knew  him  so 
humorous.  And  this  is  all  my  news,  which  is  quite  enough. 
I am  continually  thinking  of  the  house  in  the  midst  of  all 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


313 


the  bustle,  but  I trust  it  with  such  confidence  to  you  that 
I am  quite  at  my  ease  about  it. 

With  best  love  to  Georgy  and  the  girls, 

Ever,  my  dearest  Kate,  most  affectionately  yours. 

P.S. — I forgot  to  say  that  Topham  has  suddenly  come 
out  as  a juggler,  and  swallows  candles,  and  does  wonder- 
ful things  with  the  poker  very  well  indeed,  but  with  a 
bashfulness  and  embarrassment  extraordinarily  ludicrous. 

\To  Mr.  Eeles?^ 

Tavistock  House,  Tavistock  Square,  Nov.  1851. 
Dear  Mr.  Eeles, 

I must  thank  you  for  the  admirable  manner  in  which 
you  have  done  the  book-backs  in  my  room.  I feel  person- 
ally obliged  to  you,  I assure  you,  for  the  interest  you  have 
taken  in  my  whim,  and  the  promptitude  with  which  you 
have  completely  carried  it  out.  Faithfully  yours. 

\^To  Mrs.  Gaskell.^ 

Tavistock  House,  Thursday  Afternoon,  Dec.  ^th,  1851. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Gaskell, 

I write  in  great  haste  to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Wills,  in  the 
utmost  consternation,  has  brought  me  your  letter,  just  re- 
ceived (four  o’clock),  and  that  it  is  too  late  to  recall  your 
tale.  I was  so  delighted  with  it  that  I put  it  first  in  the 
number  (not  hearing  of  any  objection  to  my  proposed  al- 
teration by  return  of  post),  and  the  number  is  now  made 
up  and  in  the  printer’s  hands.  I cannot  possibly  take  the 
tale  out — it  has  departed  from  me. 

VoL.  I. — 13 


3H  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 

I am  truly  concerned  for  this,  but  I hope  you  will  not 
blame  me  for  what  I have  done  in  perfect  good  faith.  Any 
recollection  of  me  from  your  pen  cannot  (as  I think  you 
know)  be  otherwise  than  truly  gratifying  to  me  ; but  with 
my  name  on  every  page  of  Household  Words,''  there 
would  be — or  at  least  I should  feel — an  impropriety  in  so 
mentioning  myself.  I was  particular,  in  changing  the  au- 
thor, to  make  it  Hood's  Poems  " in  the  most  important 
place — I mean  where  the  captain  is  killed — and  I hope  and 
trust  that  the  substitution  will  not  be  any  serious  drawback 
to  the  paper  in  any  eyes  but  yours.  I would  do  anything 
rather  than  cause  you  a minute's  vexation  arising  out  of 
what  has  given  me  so  much  pleasure,  and  I sincerely  be- 
seech you  to  think  better  of  it,  and  not  to  fancy  that  any 
shade  has  been  thrown  on  your  charming  writing,  by 

The  unfortunate  but  innocent. 

P.S. — I write  at  a gallop,  not  to  lose  another  post. 

[7b  Mrs.  Gaskell^ 

Tavistock  House,  Sunday,  December  2\st,  1851. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Gaskell, 

If  you  were  not  the  most  suspicious  of  women,  always 
looking  for  soft  sawder  in  the  purest  metal  of  praise,  I 
should  call  your  paper  delightful,  and  touched  in  the  ten- 
derest  and  most  delicate  manner.  Being  what  you  are, 
I confine  myself  to  the  observation  that  I have  called  it 
A Love  Affair  at  Cranford,"  and  sent  it  off  to  the  printer. 

Faithfully  yours  ever. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


315 


\_To  Mr.  Peter  Cunningham 

Tavistock  House,  December  26M,  1851. 
My  dear  Cunningham, 

About  the  three  papers. 

ist.  With  Mr.  Plowman  of  Oxford,  Wills  will  commu- 
nicate. 

2nd.  (Now  returned.)  I have  seen,  in  nearly  the  same 
form,  before.  The  list  of  names  is  overwhelming. 

3rd.  I am  not  at  all  earnest  in  the  Savage  matter ; 
firstly,  because  I think  so  tremendous  a vagabond  never 
could  have  obtained  an  honest  living  in  any  station  of  ex- 
istence or  at  any  period  of  time  ; and  secondly,  because  I 
think  it  of  the  highest  importance  that  such  an  association 
as  our  Guild  should  not  appear  to  resent  upon  society  the 
faults  of  individuals  who  were  flagrantly  impracticable. 

At  its  best,  it  is  liable  to  that  suspicion,  as  all  such 
efforts  have  been  on  the  part  of  many  jealous  persons,  to 
whom  it  must  look  for  aid.  And  any  step  that  in  the  least 
encourages  it  is  one  of  a fatal  kind. 

I do  not  think  myself,  but  this  is  merely  an  individual 
opinion,  that  Savage  was  a man  of  genius,  or  that  anything 
of  his  writing  would  have  attracted  much  notice  but  for 
the  bastard’s  reference  to  his  mother.  For  these  reasons 
combined,  I should  not  be  inclined  to  add  my  subscription 
of  two  guineas  to  yours,  unless  the  inscription  were  altered 
as  I have  altered  it  in  pencil.  But  in  that  case  I should 
be  very  glad  to  respond  to  your  suggestion,  and  to  snuff 
out  all  my  smaller  disinclination. 


Faithfully  yours  ever. 


3i6 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


1852. 

NARRATIVE. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year,  Charles  Dickens  hired  a 
house  at  Dover  for  three  months,  whither  he  went  with  his 
family.  At  the  end  of  this  time  he  sent  his  children  and  ser- 
vants back  to  Tavistock  House,  and  crossed  over  to  Bou- 
logne, with  his  wife  and  sister-in-law,  to  inspect  that  town 
and  its  neighbourhood,  with  a view  of  making  it  his  summer 
quarters  in  the  following  year.  Many  amateur  perform- 
ances were  given  in  the  provinces  in  aid  of  the  fund  for  the 
Guild  of  Literature  and  Art ; Charles  Dickens,  as  usual, 
taking  the  whole  management  on  his  own  shoulders. 

In  March,  the  first  number  of  Bleak  House  ” appeared^ 
and  he  was  at  work  on  this  book  all  through  the  year,  as 
well  as  being  constantly  occupied  with  his  editorship  of 
“ Household  Words.” 

We  have,  in  the  letters  for  this  year,  Charles  Dickens's 
first  to  Lord  John  Russell  (afterwards  the  Earl  Russell); 
a friend  whom  he  held  in  the  highest  estimation,  and  to 
whom  he  was  always  grateful  for  many  personal  kindnesses. 
We  have  also  his  first  letter  to  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins,  with 
whom  he  became  most  intimately  associated  in  literary 
work.  The  affectionate  friendship  he  had  for  him,  the 
high  value  in  which  he  held  him  as  a brother-artist,  are 
constantly  expressed  in  Charles  Dickens’s  own  letters  to 
Mr.  Collins,  and  in  his  letters  to  other  friends. 

Those  gallant  men”  (in  the  letter  to  Mr.  J.  Crofton 
Croker)  had  reference  to  an  antiquarian  club,  called  the 
Noviomagians,  who  were  about  to  give  a dinner  in  honour 
of  Sir  Edward  Belcher  and  Captain  Kellett,  the  officers  in 
command  of  the  Arctic  Exploring  Expedition,  to  which 
Charles  Dickens  was  also  invited.  Mr.  Crofton  Croker 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCICENS. 


317 


was  the  president  of  this  club,  and  to  denote  his  office  it 
was  customary  to  put  on  a cocked  hat  after  dinner. 

The  lost  character  he  writes  of  in  a letter  to  Mrs. 
Watson,  refers  to  two  different  decipherings  of  his  hand- 
writing ; this  sort  of  study  being  in  fashion  then,  and  he 
and  his  friends  at  Rockingham  Castle  deriving  much 
amusement  from  it. 

The  letter  dated  July  9th  was  in  answer  to  an  anonymous 
correspondent,  who  wrote  to  him  as  follows  : I venture 

to  trespass  on  your  attention  with  one  serious  query,  touch- 
ing a sentence  in  the  last  number  of  ‘ Bleak  House.’  Do 
the  supporters  of  Christian  missions  to  the  heathen  really 
deserve  the  attack  that  is  conveyed  in  the  sentence  about 
Jo’  seated  in  his  anguish  on  the  door-step  of  the  Society 
for  the  Propagation  of  the  Gospel  in  Foreign  Parts  ? The 
allusion  is  severe,  but  is  it  just  ? Are  such  boys  as  Jo’ 
neglected  ? What  are  ragged  schools,  town  missions,  and 
many  of  those  societies  I regret  to  see  sneered  at  in  the 
last  number  of  ^ Household  Words  ’ ? ” 

The  Duke  of  Middlesex,”  in  the  letter  we  have  here  to 
Mr.  Charles  Knight,  was  the  name  of  the  character  played 
by  Mr.  F.  Stone,  in  Sir  E.  B.  Lytton’s  comedy  of  “ Not  so 
Bad  as  we  Seem.” 

Our  last  letter  in  this  year,  to  Mr.  G.  Linnaeus  Banks, 
was  in  acknowledgment  of  one  from  him  on  the  subject  of 
a proposed  public  dinner  to  Charles  Dickens,  to  be  given 
by  the  people  of  Birmingham,  when  they  were  also  to  pre- 
sent him  with  a salver  and  a diamond  ring.  The  dinner  was 
given  in  the  following  year,  and  the  ring  and  salver  (the  lat- 
ter an  artistic  specimen  of  Birmingham  ware)  were  duly  pre- 
sented by  Mr.  Banks,  who  acted  as  honorary  secretary,  in 
the  names  of  the  subscribers,  at  the  rooms  of  the  Birming- 
ham Fine  Arts  Association.  Mr.  Banks,  and  the  artist,  Mr. 
J.  C.  Walker,  were  the  originators  of  this  demonstration. 


318 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


\^To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready.} 

Tavistock  House,  January  'yist,  1852. 
My  dear  Macready, 

If  the  taxes  on  knowledge mean  the  stamp  duty,  the 
paper  duty,  and  the  advertisement  duty,  they  seem  to  me 
to  be  unnecessarily  confounded,  and  unfairly  too. 

I have  already  declined  to  sign  a petition  for  the  re- 
moval of  the  stamp  duty  on  newspapers.  I think  the  re- 
duced duty  is  some  protection  to  the  public  against  the 
rash  and  hasty  launching  of  blackguard  newspapers.  I 
think  the  newspapers  are  made  extremely  accessible  to  the 
poor  man  at  present,  and  that  he  would  not  derive  the 
least  benefit  from  the  abolition  of  the  stamp.  It  is  not  at 
all  clear  to  me,  supposing  he  wants  The  Tunes  a penny 
cheaper,  that  he  would  get  it  a penny  cheaper  if  the  tax 
were  taken  off.  If  he  supposes  he  would  get  in  competi- 
tion two  or  three  new  journals  as  good  to  choose  from,  he 
is  mistaken  ; not  knowing  the  immense  resources  and  the 
gradually  perfective  machinery  necessary  to  the  production 
of  such  a journal.  It  appears  to  me  to  be  a fair  tax  enough, 
very  little  in  the  way  of  individuals,  not  embarrassing  to 
the  public  in  its  mode  of  being  levied,  and  requiring  some 
small  consideration  and  pauses  from  the  American  kind  of 
newspaper  projectors.  Further,  a committee  has  reported 
in  favour  of  the  repeal,  and  the  subject  may  be  held  to  need 
no  present  launching. 

The  repeal  of  the  paper  duty  would  benefit  the  producers 
of  periodicals  immensely.  It  would  make  a very  large 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


3^9 


difference  to  me,  in  the  case  of  such  a journal  as  House- 
hold Words.”  But  the  gain  to  the  public  would  be  very 
small.  It  would  not  make  the  difference  of  enabling  me, 
for  example,  to  reduce  the  price  of  Household  Words,” 
by  its  fractional  effect  upon  a copy,  or  to  increase  the 
quantity  of  matter.  I might,  in  putting  the  difference  into 
my  pocket,  improve  the  quality  of  the  paper  a little,  but 
not  one  man  in  a thousand  would  notice  it.  It  might 
(though  I am  not  sure  even  of  this)  remove  the  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  a deserving  periodical  with  a small  sale. 
Charles  Knight  holds  that  it  would.  But  the  case,  on 
the  whole,  appeared  to  me  so  slight,  when  I went  to 
Downing  Street  with  a deputation  on  the  subject,  that  I 
said  (in  addressing  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer)  I 
could  not  honestly  maintain  it  for  a moment  as  against 
the  soap  duty,  or  any  other  pressing  on  the  mass  of  the 
poor. 

The  advertisement  duty  has  this  preposterous  anomaly, 
that  a footman  in  want  of  a place  pays  as  much  in  the  way 
of  tax  for  the  expression  of  his  want,  as  Professor  Holloway 
pays  for  the  whole  list  of  his  miraculous  cures. 

But  I think,  at  this  time  especially,  there  is  so' much  to 
be  considered  in  the  necessity  the  country  will  be  under  of 
having  money,  and  the  necessity  of  justice  it  is  always 
under,  to  consider  the  physical  and  moral  wants  of  the 
poor  man’s  home,  as  to  justify  a man  in  saying : I 

must  wait  a little,  all  taxes  are  more  or  less  objection- 
able, and  so  no  doubt  are  these,  but  we  must  have  some  ; 
and  I have  not  made  up  my  mind  that  all  these  things 


320 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


that  are  mixed  up  together  are  taxes  on  knowledge  in 
reality/' 

Kate  and  Georgy  unite  with  me  in  kindest  and  heartiest 
love  to  dear  Mrs.  Macready.  We  are  always  with  you  in 
spirit,  and  always  talking  about  you.  I am  obliged  to 
conclude  very  hastily,  being  beset  to-day  with  business  en- 
gagements. Saw  the  lecture  and  was  delighted ; thought 
the  idea  admirable.  Again,  loves  upon  loves  to  dear  Mrs. 
Macready  and  to  Miss  Macready  also,  and  Kate  and  all 

the  house.  I saw  play  (O  Heaven  !)  Macbeth/' 

the  other  night,  in  three  hours  and  fifty  minutes,  which  is 
quick,  I think. 

Ever  and  always  affectionately. 

{.To  Mr.  J.  Crofton  Croker^ 

Tavistock  House,  March  1852. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I have  the  greatest  interest  in  those  gallant  men,  and 
should  have  been  delighted  to  dine  in  their  company.  I 
feel  truly  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  remembrance  on 
such  an  occasion. 

But  I am  engaged  to  Lord  Lansdowne  on  Wednesday, 
and  can  only  drink  to  them  in  the  spirit,  which  I have  often 
done  when  they  have  been  farther  off. 

I hope  you  will  find  occasion  to  put  on  your  cocked  hat, 
that  they  may  see  how  terrific  and  imposing  “ a fore-and- 
after  " can  be  made  on  shore. 


Faithfully  yours  always. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


321 


{.To  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson.~\ 

Tavistock  House,  April  6tk,  1852. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

My  lost  character  was  one  of  those  awful  documents 
occasionally  to  be  met  with,  which  will  be  everywhere. 
It  glared  upon  me  from  every  drawer  I had,  fell  out  of 
books,  lurked  under  keys,  hid  in  empty  inkstands,  got 
into  portfolios,  frightened  me  by  inscrutably  passing  into 
locked  despatch-boxes,  and  was  not  one  character,  but  a 
thousand.  This  was  when  I didn't  want  it.  1 look  for  it 
this  morning,  and  it  is  nowhere  ! Probably  will  never  be 
beheld  again. 

But  it  was  very  unlike  this  one  ; and  there  is  no  doubt 
that  when  these  ventures  come  out  good,  it  is  only  by  lucky 
chance  and  coincidence.  She  never  mentioned  my  love 
of  order  before,  and  it  is  so  remarkable  (being  almost  a dis- 
order), that  she  ought  to  have  fainted  with  surprise  when 
my  handwriting  was  first  revealed  to  her. 

I was  very  sorry  to  leave  Rockingham  the  other  day, 
and  came  away  in  quite  a melancholy  state.  The  Bir- 
mingham people  were  very  active  ; and  the  Shrewsbury 
gentry  quite  transcendent.  I .hope  we  shall  have  a very 
successful  and  dazzling  trip.  It  is  delightful  to  me  to 
think  of  your  coming  to  Birmingham  ; and,  by-the-bye,  if 
you  will  tell  me  in  the  previous  week  what  hotel  accommo- 
dation you  want,  Mr.  Wills  will  look  to  it  with  the  greatest 
pleasure. 

VoL.  I. — 14* 


322 


LETTERS  OF  CL/ARLES  DICKENS. 


Your  bookseller  ought  to  be  cashiered.  I suppose  he  ” 
(as  Rogers  calls  everybody's  husband)  went  out  hunting 
with  the  idea  of  diverting  his  mind  from  dwelling  on  its 
loss.  Abortive  effort ! 

Charley  brings  this  with  himself. 

With  kindest  regards  and  remembrances, 

Ever,  dear  Mrs.  Watson,  most  faithfully  yours. 

[7h  Mr.  Charles  Knight 

Tavistock  House,  June  2<^th,  1852. 

My  dear  Knight, 

A thousand  thanks  for  the  Shadow,  which  is  charming. 
May  you  often  go  (out  of  town)  and  do  likewise ! 

I dined  with  Charles  Kemble,  yesterday,  to  meet  Emil 
Devrient,  the  German  actor.  He  said  (Devrient  is  my 
antecedent)  that  Ophelia  spoke  the  snatches  of  ballads  in 
their  German  version  of  Hamlet,”  because  they  didn't 
know  the  airs.  Tom  Taylor  said  that  you  had  published 
the  airs  in  your  ‘^Shakespeare.''  I said  that  if  it  were 
so,  I knew  you  would  be  happy  to  place  them  at  the  Ger- 
man's service.  If  you  have  got  them  and  will  send  them 
to  me,  I will  write  to  Devrient  (who  knows  no  English) 
a French  explanation  and  .reminder  of  the  circumstance, 
and  will  tell  him  that  you  responded  like  a man  and 
a — I was  going  to  say  publisher,  but  you  are  nothing  of 
the  sort,  except  as  Tonson.  Then  indeed  you  are  every 
inch  a pub.  ! 


Ever  affectionately. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


323 


[ To  the  Lord  John  Russelld^ 

Tavistock  House,  Wednesday,,  June  2>oth,  1852. 
My  dear  Lord, 

I am  most  truly  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  note,  and 
for  your  so  generously  thinking  of  me  in  the  midst  of  your 
many  occupations.  I do  assure  you  that  your  ever  ready 
consideration  had  already  attached  me  to  you  in  the  warm- 
est manner,  and  made  me  very  much  your  debtor.  I thank 
you  unaffectedly  and  very  earnestl)^,  and  am  proud  to  be 
held  in  your  remembrance. 

Believe  me  always,  yours  faithfully  and  obliged. 


[7k>  an  Anonymous  Correspondent^ 

Tavistock  House,  Tavistock  Square,  July  c)th  1852. 

Sir, 

I have  received  your  letter  of  yesterday’s  date,  and  shall 
content  myself  with  a brief  reply. 

There  was  a long  time  during  which  benevolent  socie- 
ties were  spending  immense  sums  on  missions  abroad, 
when  there  was  no  such  thing  as  a ragged  school  in  Eng- 
land, or  any  kind  of  associated  endeavour  to  penetrate  to 
those  horrible  domestic  depths  in  which  such  schools  are 
now  to  be  found,  and  where  they  were,  to  my  most  cer- 
tain knowledge,  neither  placed  nor  discovered  by  the  So- 
ciety for  the  Propagation  of  the  Gospel  in  Foreign  Parts. 

If  you  think  the  balance  between  the  home  mission  and 


324 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


the  foreign  mission  justly  held  in  the  present  time,  I do 
not.  I abstain  from  drawing  the  strange  comparison  that 
might  be  drawn  between  the  sums  even  now  expended  in 
endeavours  to  remove  the  darkest  ignorance  and  degrada- 
tion from  our  very  doors,  because  I have  some  respect  for 
mistakes  that  may  be  founded  in  a sincere  wish  to  do  good. 
But  I present  a general  suggestion  of  the  still-existing  anom- 
aly (in  such  a paragraph  as  that  which  offends  you),  in 
the  hope  of  inducing  some  people  to  reflect  on  this  mat- 
ter, and  to  adjust  the  balance  more  correctly.  I am  de- 
cidedly of  opinion  that  the  two  works,  the  home  and  the 
foreign,  are  not  conducted  with  an  equal  hand,  and  that 
the  home  claim  is  by  far  the  stronger  and  the  more  press- 
ing of  the  two. 

Indeed,  I have  very  grave  doubts  whether  a great  com- 
mercial country,  holding  communication  with  all  parts  of 
the  world,  can  better  Christianise  the  benighted  portions 
of  it  than  by  the  bestowal  of  its  wealth^and  energy  on  the 
making  of  good  Christians  at  home,  and  on  the  utter 
removal  of  neglected  and  untaught  childhood  from  its 
streets,  before  it  wanders  elsewhere.  For,  if  it  steadily 
persist  in  this  work,  working  downward  to  the  lowest,  the 
travellers  of  all  grades  whom  it  sends  abroad  will  be  good, 
exemplary,  practical  missionaries,  instead  of  undoers  of 
what  the  best  professed  missionaries  can  do. 

These  are  my  opinions,  founded,  I believe,  on  some 
knowledge  of  facts  and  some  observation.  If  I could  be 
scared  out  of  them,  let  me  add  in  all  good  humour,  by 
such  easily-impressed  words  as  antichristian  or  irre- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


325 


ligious/’  I should  think  that  I deserved  them  in  their  real 
signification. 

I have  referred  in  vain  to  page  312  of  Household 
Words  ” for  the  sneer  to  which  you  call  my  attention.  Nor 
have  I,  I assure  you,  the  least  idea  where  else  it  is  to  be 
found. 

I am,  Sir,  your  faithful  Servant. 

[7b  Miss  Mary  Boyle7[ 

10,  Camden  Crescent,  Dover,  July  2,'ind,  1852. 
My  dear  Mary, 

This  is  indeed  a noble  letter.  The  description  of  the 
family  is  quite  amazing.  I must  return  it  myself  to  say 
that  I HAVE  appreciated  it. 

I am  going  to  do  Used  Up  at  Manchester  on  the  2nd 
of  September.  O,  think  of  that  ! With  another  Mary  ! ! ! 
How  can  I ever  say,  “ Dear  Joe,  if  you  like!  ” The  voice 
may  fully  frame  the  falsehood,  but  the  heart — the  heart, 
Mr.  Wurzel — will  have  no  part  in  it. 

My  dear  Mary,  you  do  scant  justice  to  Dover.  It  is  not 
quite  a place  to  my  taste,  being  too  bandy  (I  mean  musi- 
cal, no  reference  to  its  legs),  and  infinitely  too  genteel. 
But  the  sea  is  very  fine,  and  the  walks  are  quite  remarka- 
ble. There  are  two  ways  of  going  to  Folkestone,  both 
lovely  and  striking  in  the  highest  degree ; and  there  are 
heights,  and  downs,  and  country  roads,  and  I don’t  know 
what,  everywhere. 

To  let  you  into  a secret,  I am  not  quite  sure  that  I ever 


326  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


did  like,  or  ever  shall  like,  anything  quite  so  well  as  Cop- 
perfield/’  But  I foresee,  I think,  some  very  good  things 
in  “ Bleak  House.’'  I shouldn’t  wonder  if  they  were  the 
identical  things  that  D’Israeli  sees  looming  in  the  distance. 
I behold  them  in  the  months  ahead  and  weep. 

Watson  seemed,  when  I saw  him  last,  to  be  holding  on 
as  by  a sheet-anchor  to  theatricals  at  Christmas.  Then, 
O rapture  ! but  be  still,  my  fluttering  heart. 

This  is  one  of  what  I call  my  wandering  days  before  I 
fall  to  work.  I seem  to  be  always  looking  at  such  times 
for  something  I have  not  found  in  life,  but  may  possibly 
come  to  a few  thousands  of  years  hence,  in  some  other  part 
of  some  other  system.  God  knows.  At  all  events  I won’t 
put  your  pastoral  little  pipe  out  of  tune  by  talking  about  it. 
I’ll  go  and  look  for  it  on  the  Canterbury  road  among  the 
hop-gardens  and  orchards. 

Ever  faithfully  your  Friend, 

Joe. 


\To  Mr,  Charles  Knight l\ 

10,  Camden  Crescent,  Dover,  Sunday,  Aug.  1st,  1852. 
My  dear  Knight, 

I don’t  see  why  you  should  go  to  the  Ship,  and  I won’t 
stand  it.  The  state  apartment  will  be  occupied  by  the 
Duke  of  Middlesex  (whom  I think  you  know),  but  we  can 
easily  get  a bed  for  you  hard  by.  Therefore  you  will 
please  to  drive  here  next  Saturday  evening.  Our  regular 
dinner  hour  is  half-past  five.  If  you  are  later,  you  will 
find  something  ready  for  you. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


327 


If  you  go  on  in  that  way  about  your  part,  I shall  think 
you  want  to  play  Mr.  Gabblewig.  Your  role,  though  a 
small  one  on  the  stage,  is  a large  one  off  it  ; and  no  man 
is  more  important  to  the  Guild,  both  on  and  off. 

My  dear  friend  Watson  ! Dead  after  an  illness  of  four 
days.  He  dined  with  us  this  day  three  weeks.  I loved 
him  as  my  heart,  and  cannot  think  of  him  without  tears. 

Ever  affectionately. 

\.To  Mr.  Mark  Lemoni] 

Dover,  August  1852. 

My  dear  Mark, 

Poor  dear  Watson  was  dead  when  the  paragraph  in  the 
paper  appeared.  He  was  buried  in  his  own  church  yester- 
day. Last  Sunday  three  weeks  (the  day  before  he  went 
abroad)  he  dined  with  us,  and  was  quite  well  and  happy. 
She  has  come  home,  is  at  Rockingham  with  the  children, 
and  does  not  weakly  desert  his  grave,  but  sets  up  her  rest 
by  it  from  the  first.  He  had  been  wandering  in  his  mind 
a little  before  his  death,  but  recovered  consciousness,  and 
fell  asleep  (she  says)  quite  gently  and  peacefully  in  her 
arms. 

I loved  him  very  much,  and  God  knows  he  deserved  it. 

Ever  affectionately. 

[7b  the  Earl  of  Carlisle 

10,  Camden  Crescent,  Dover,  Thursday,  Aug.  ^th,  1852. 
My  dear  Lord  Carlisle, 

Teared  to  me  (as  Uncle  Tom  would  say)  until  within 


328  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS, 


these  last  few  days,  that  I should  be  able  to  write  to  you, 
joyfully  accepting  your  Saturday’s  invitation  after  New- 
castle, in  behalf  of  all  whom  it  concerned.  But  the  Sun- 
derland people  rushed  into  the  field  to  propose  our  acting 
there  on  that  Saturday,  the  only  possible  night.  And  as 
it  is  the  concluding  Guild  expedition,  and  the  Guild  has 
a paramount  claim  on  us,  I have  been  obliged  to  knock 
my  own  inclinations  on  the  head,  cut  the  throat  of  my 
own  wishes,  and  bind  the  Company  hand  and  foot  to  the 
Sunderland  lieges.  I don’t  mean  to  tell  them  now  of  your 
invitation  until  we  shall  have  got  out  of  that  country. 
There  might  be  rebellion.  We  are  staying  here  for  the 
autumn. 

Is  there  any  hope  of  your  repeating  your  visit  to  these 
coasts  ? 

Ever  faithfully  yours. 

iTo  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson^ 

10,  Camden  Crescent,  Dover,  August  1852. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  WATSON. 

My  dear,  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

I cannot  bear  to  be  silent  longer,  though  I know  full 
well — no  one  better  I think — how  your  love  for  him,  and 
your  trust  in  God,  and  your  love  for  your  children  will 
have  come  to  the  help  of  such  a nature  as  yours,  and 
whispered  better  things  than  any  friendship  can,  however 
faithful  and  affectionate. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCLCENS. 


329 


We  held  him  so  close  in  our  hearts — all  of  us  here — and 
have  been  so  happy  with  him,  and  so  used  to  say  how 
good  he  was,  and  what  a gentle,  generous,  noble  spirit  he 
had,  and  how  he  shone  out  among  commoner  men  as 
something  so  real  and  genuine,  and  full  of  every  kind  of 
worthiness,  that  it  has  often  brought  the  tears  into  my 
eyes  to  talk  of  him  ; we  have  been  so  accustomed  to  do 
this  when  we  looked  forward  to  years  of  unchanged  inter- 
course, that  now,  when  everything  but  truth  goes  down 
into  the  dust,  those  recollections  which  make  the  sword  so 
sharp  pour  balm  into  the  wound.  And  if  it  be  a consola- 
tion to  us  to  know  the  virtues  of  his  character,  and  the 
reasons  that  we  had  for  loving  him,  O how  much  greater  is 
your  comfort  who  were  so  devoted  to  him,  and  were  the 
happiness  of  his  life  ! 

We  have  thought  of  you  every  day  and  every  hour  ; we 
think  of  you  now  in  the  dear  old  house,  and  know  how 
right  it  is,  for  his  dear  children's  sake,  that  you  should 
have  bravely  set  up  your  rest  in  the  place  consecrated 
by  their  father's  memory,  and  within  the  same  summer 
shadows  that  fall  upon  his  grave.  We  try  to  look  on, 
through  a few  years,  and  to  see  the  children  brightening  it, 
and  George  a comfort  and  a pride  and  an  honour  to  you  ; 
and  although  it  is  hard  to  think  of  what  we  have  lost,  we 
know  how  something  of  it  will  be  restored  by  your  exam- 
ple and  endeavours,  and  the  blessing  that  will  descend 
upon  them.  We  know  how  the  time  will  come  when  some 
reflection  of  that  cordial,  unaffected,  most  affectionate 
presence,  which  we  can  never  forget,  and  never  would  for- 


330 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


get  if  we  could — such  is  God’s  great  mercy — will  shine 
out  of  your  boy’s  eyes  upon  you,  his  best  friend  and  his 
last  consoler,  and  fill  the  void  there  is  now. 

May  God,  who  has  received  into  His  rest  through  this 
affliction  as  good  a man  as  ever  I can  know  and  love  and 
mourn  for  on  this  earth,  be  good  to  you,  dear  friends, 
through  these  coming  years  ! May  all  those  compassion- 
ate and  hopeful  lessons  of  the  great  Teacher  who  shed 
divine  tears  for  the  dead  bring  their  full  comfort  to  you  ! 
I have  no  fear  of  that,  my  confidence  is  certainty. 

I cannot  write  what  I wish  ; I had  so  many  things  to 
say,  I seem  to  have  said  none.  It  is  so  with  the  remem- 
brances we  send.  I cannot  put  them  into  words. 

If  you  should  ever  set  up  a record  in  the  little  church, 
I would  try  to  word  it  myself,  and  God  knows  out  of  the 
fulness  of  my  heart,  if  you  should  think  it  well. 

My  dear  Friend, 

Yours,  with  the  truest  affection  and  sympathy. 

[7h  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready.^ 

H6tel  des  Bains,  Boulogne, 

Tuesday  Nighty  Oct.  1852. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MRS.  MACREADY. 

My  dearest  Macready, 

I received  your  melancholy  letter  while  we  were  staying 
at  Dover,  a few  days  after  it  was  written  ; but  I thought  it 
best  not  to  write  to  you  until  you  were  at  home  again, 
among  your  dear  children. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


331 


Its  tidings  were  not  unexpected  to  us,  had  been  antici- 
pated in  many  conversations,  often  thought  of  under  many 
circumstances  ; but  the  shock  was  scarcely  lessened  by 
this  preparation.  The  many  happy  days  we  have  passed 
together  came  crowding  back  ; all  the  old  cheerful  times 
arose  before  us  ; and  the  remembrance  of  what  we  had 
loved  so  dearly  and  seen  under  so  many  aspect — all  nat- 
ural and  delightful  and  affectionate  and  ever  to  be  cher- 
ished— was,  how  pathetic  and  touching  you  know  best  ! 

But  my  dear,  dear  Macready,  this  is  not  the  first  time 
you  have  felt  that  the  recollection  of  great  love  and  hap- 
piness associated  with  the  dead  soothes  while  it  wounds. 
And  while  I can  imagine  that  the  blank  beside  you  may 
grow  wider  every  day  for  many  days  to  come,  I know — I 
think — that  from  its  depths  such  comfort  will  arise  as  only 
comes  to  great  hearts  like  yours,  when  they  can  think  upon 
their  trials  with  a steady  trust  in  God. 

My  dear  friend,  I have  known  her  so  well,  have  been  so 
happy  in  her  regard,  have  been  so  light-hearted  with  her, 
have  interchanged  so  many  tender  remembrances  of  you 
with  her  when  you  were  far  away,  and  have  seen  her  ever 
so  simply  and  truly  anxious  to  be  worthy  of  you,  that  I 
cannot  write  as  I would  and  as  I know  I ought.  As  I 
would  press  your  hand  in  your  distress,  I let  this  note  go 
from  me.  I understand  your  grief,  I deeply  feel  the  reason 
that  there  is  for  it,  yet  in  that  very  feeling  find  a softening 
consolation  that  must  spring  up  a hundred-thousandfold 
for  you.  May  Heaven  prosper  it  in  your  breast,  and  the 
spirits  that  have  gone  before,  from  the  regions  of  mercy 


332 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


to  which  they  have  been  called,  smooth  the  path  you  have 
to  tread  alone  ! Children  are  left  you.  Your  good  sis- 
ter (God  bless  her  !)  is  by  your  side.  You  have  devoted 
friends,  and  more  reasons  than  most  men  to  be  self-reliant 
and  stedfast.  Something  is  gone  that  never  in  this  world 
can  be  replaced,  but  much  is  left,  and  it  is  a part  of  her 
life,  her  death,  her  immortality. 

Catherine  and  Georgina,  who  are  with  me  here,  send 
you  their  overflowing  love  and  sympathy.  We  hope  that 
in  a little  while,  and  for  a little  while  at  least,  you  will 
come  among  us,  who  have  known  the  happiness  of  being 
in  this  bond  with  you,  and  will  not  exclude  us  from  partic- 
ipation in  your  past  and  future. 

Ever,  my  dearest  Macready,  with  unchangeable  affection. 
Yours  in  all  love  and  truth. 

\^ToMr.  W.H,  Wills?[ 

H6tel  des  Bains,  Boulogne,  Tuesday,  Oct,  12th,  1852. 
My  dear  Wills, 

H.  W. 

I have  thought  of  the  Christmas  number,  but  not  very 
successfully,  because  I have  been  (and  still  am)  constantly 
occupied  with  Bleak  House.”  I purpose  returning  home 
either  on  Sunday  or  Monday,  as  my  work  permits,  and  we 
will,  immediately  thereafter,  dine  at  the  office  and  talk  it 
over,  so  that  you  may  get  all  the  men  to  their  work. 

The  fault  of ’s  poem,  besides  its  intrinsic  meanness 

as  a composition,  is  that  it  goes  too  glibly  with  the  com- 
fortable ideas  (of  which  we  have  had  a great  deal  too  much 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKEES. 


333 


in  England  since  the  Continental  commotions)  that  a man 
is  to  sit  down  and  make  himself  domestic  and  meek,  no 
matter  what  is  done  to  him.  It  wants  a stronger  appeal  to 
rulers  in  general  to  let  men  do  this,  fairly,  by  governing 
them  well.  As  it  stands,  it  is  at  about  the  tract-mark 
(“  Dairyman's  Daughter,"  etc.)  of  political  morality,  and 
don’t  think  that  it  is  necessary  to  write  down  to  any  part 
of  our  audience.  I always  hold  that  to  be  as  great  a mis- 
take as  can  be  made. 

I wish  you  would  mention  to  Thomas,  that  I think  the 
paper  on  hops  extremely  well  done.  He  has  quite  caught 
the  idea  we  want,  and  caught  it  in  the  best  way.  In  pur- 
suing the  bridge  subject,  I think  it  would  be  advisable  to 
look  up  the  Thames  police.  I have  a misty  notion  of  some 
capital  papers  coming  out  of  it.  Will  you  see  to  this  branch 
of  the  tree  among  the  other  branches  ? 

Myself. 

To  Chapman  I will  write.  My  impression  is  that  I shall 
not  subscribe  to  the  Hood  monument,  as  I am  not  at  all 
favourable  to  such  posthumous  honours. 

Ever  faithfully. 

iToMr.  W.H.  Wills.] 

Hotel  des  Bains,  Boulogne, 

Wednesday  Night,  Oct.  I2,th,  1852. 

My  dear  Willis, 

The  number  coming  in  after  dinner,  since  my  letter  was 
written  and  posted,  I have  gone  over  it. 

I am  grievously  depressed  by  it ; it  is  so  exceedingly  bad. 


334 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


If  you  have  anything  else  to  put  first,  don’t  put ’s  pa- 

per first.  (There  is  nothing  better  for  a beginning  in  the 
number  as  it  stands,  but  this  is  very  bad.)  It  is  a mistake 
to  think  of  it  as  a first  article.  The  article  itself  is  in  the 
main  a mistake.  Firstly,  the  subject  requires  the  greatest 
discretion  and  nicety  of  touch.  And  secondly,  it  is  all 
wrong  and  self-contradictory.  Nobody  can  for  a moment 
suppose  that  sporting  ” amusements  are  the  sports  of  the 
PEOPLE  ; the  whole  gist  of  the  best  part  of  the  description 
is  to  show  that  they  are  the  amusements  of  a peculiar  and 
limited  class.  The  greater  part  of  them  are  at  a miserable 
discount  (horse-racing  excepted,  which  has  already  been 
sufficiently  done  in  H.  W.),  and  there  is  no  reason  for  run- 
ning amuck  at  them  at  all.  I have  endeavoured  to  remove 
much  of  my  objection  (and  I think  have  done  so),  but, 
both  in  purpose  and  in  any  general  address,  it  is  as  wide 
of  a first  article  as  anything  can  well  be.  It  would  do  best 
in  the  opening  of  the  number. 

About  Sunday  in  Paris  there  is  no  kind  of  doubt.  Take 
it  out.  Such  a thing  as  that  crucifixion,  unless  it  were 
done  in  a masterly  manner,  we  have  no  business  to  stagger 
families  with.  Besides,  the  name  is  a comprehensive  one, 
and  should  include  a quantity  of  fine  matter.  Lord  bless 
me,  what  I could  write  under  that  head  ! 

Strengthen  the  number,  pray,  by  anything  good  you  may 
have.  It  is  a very  dreary  business  as  it  stands. 

The  proofs  want  a thorough  revision. 

In  haste,  going  to  bed. 


Ever  faithfully. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


335 


P.S. — I want  a name  for  Miss  Martineau’s  paper. 

Triumphant  Carriages  (or  Triumphal). 

Dublin  Stoutheartedness. 

Patience  and  Prejudice. 

Take  which  you  like  best. 

[7b  Mr.  John  Watkins 

Monday,  October  i^tk,  1852. 

Sir, 

On  my  return  to  town  I find  the  letter  awaiting  me  which 
you  did  me  the  favour  to  address  to  me,  I believe — for  it 
has  no  date — some  days  ago. 

I have  the  greatest  tenderness  for  the  memory  of  Hood, 
as  I had  for  himself.  But  I am  not  very  favourable  to 
posthumous  rnemorials  in  the  monurnent  way,  and  I should 
exceedingly  regret  to  see  any  such  appeal  as  you  contem- 
plate made  public,  remembering  another  public  appeal  that 
was  made  and  responded  to  after  Hood's  death.  I think 
that  I best  discharge  my  duty  to  my  deceased  friend,  and 
best  consult  the  respect  and  love  with  which  I remember 
him,  by  declining  to  join  in  any  such  public  endeavours  as 
that  which  you  (in  all  generosity  and  singleness  of  purpose, 
I am  sure)  advance.  I shall  have  a melancholy  gratifica- 
tion in  privately  assisting  to  place  a simple  and  plain  rec- 
ord over  the  remains  of  a great  writer  that  should  be  as 
modest  as  he  was  himself,  but  I regard  any  other  monu- 
ment in  connection  with  his  mortal  resting-place  as  a mis- 
take. 


I am,  Sir,  your  faithful  Servant. 


33^  LETTERS  OF  C/LA  REES  DICKENS, 

[ To  Rev.  James  Whiie^ 

Office  of  “ Household  Words/’  Tuesday,  Oct.  igtk,  1852. 
My  dear  White, 

We  are  now  getting  our  Christmas  extra  number  together, 
and  I think  you  are  the  boy  to  do,  if  you  will,  one  of  the 
stories. 

I propose  to  give  the  number  some  fireside  name,  and  to 
make  it  consist  entirely  of  short  stories  supposed  to  be  told 
by  a family  sitting  round  the  fire.  I dont  care  about  their 
referring  to  Christmas  at  all ; nor  do  I design  to  connect 
them  together,  otherwise  than  by  their  names,  as  : 

The  Grandfather’s  Story. 

The  Father’s  Story. 

The  Daughter’s  Story. 

The  Schoolboy’s  Story. 

The  Child’s  Story. 

The  Guest’s  Story. 

The  Old  Nurse’s  Story. 

The  grandfather  might  very  well  be  old  enough  to  have 
lived  in  the  days  of  the  highwaymen.  Do  you  feel  dis- 
posed, from  fact,  fancy,  or  both,  to  do  a good  Avinter-hearth 
story  of  a highwayman  ? If  you  do,  I embrace  you  (per 
post),  and  throw  up  a cap  1 have  purchased  for  the  pur- 
pose into  mid-air. 

Think  of  it  and  write  me  a line  in  reply.  We  are  all 
well  and  blooming. 

Are  you  never  coming  to  town  any  more  ? Never  going 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


337 


to  drink  port  again,  metropolitaneously,  but  always  with 
Fielden  ? 

Love  to  Mrs.  White  and  the  children,  if  Lotty  be  not 
out  of  the  list  long  ago. 

Ever  faithfully,  my  dear  White. 

iTo  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watsonl\ 

Athen^um,  Monday,  Noveinber  'I'lnd,  1852. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Having  just  now  finished  my  work  for  the  time  being, 
I turn  in  here  in  the  course  of  a rainy  walk,  to  have  the 
gratification  of  writing  a few  lines  to  you.  If  my  occupa- 
tions with  this  same  right  hand  were  less  numerous,  you 
would  soon  be  tired  of  me,  I should  write  to  you  so  often. 
You  asked  Catherine  a question  about  Bleak  House.” 
Its  circulation  is  half  as  large  again  as  Copperfield  ” ! I 
have  just  now  come  to  the  point  I have  been  patiently 
working  up  to  in  the  writing,  and  I hope  it  will  suggest  to 
you  a pretty  and  affecting  thing.  In  the  matter  of  Uncle 
Tom’s  Cabin,”  I partly  though  not  entirely  agree  with  Mr. 
James.  No  doubt  a much  lower  art  will  serve  for  the 
handling  of  such  a subject  in  fiction,  than  for  a launch  on 
the  sea  of  imagination  without  such  a powerful  bark  ; but 
there  are  many  points  in  the  book  very  admirably  done. 
There  is  a certain  St.  Clair,  a New  Orleans  gentleman, 
who  seems  to  me  to  be  conceived  with  great  power  and 
originality.  If  he  had  not  a Grecian  outline  of  face,” 
which  I began  to  be  a little  tired  of  in  my  earliest  infancy, 
VoL.  I.— 15 


338  LETTERS  OF  CE ARLES  DLCKENS, 


I should  think  him  unexceptionable.  He  has  a sister  too, 
a maiden  lady  from  New  England,  in  whose  person  the 
besetting  weaknesses  and  prejudices  of  the  Abolitionists 
themselves,  on  the  subject  of  the  blacks,  are  set  forth  in  the 
liveliest  and  truest  colours  and  with  the  greatest  boldness. 

I have  written  for  Household  Words  ’’  of  this  next 
publication-day  an  article  on  the  State  funeral,*  showing 
why  I consider  it  altogether  a mistake,  to  be  temperately 
but  firmly  objected  to  ; which  I daresay  will  make  a good 
many  of  the  admirers  of  such  things  highly  indignant.  It 
may  have  right  and  reason  on  its  side,  however,  none  the 
less. 

Charley  and  I had  a great  talk  at  Dover  about  his  going 
into  the  army,  when  I thought  it  right  to  set  before  him 
fairly  and  faithfully  the  objections  to  that  career,  no  less 
than  its  advantages.  The  result  was  that  he  asked  in  a 
very  manly  way  for  time  to  consider.  So  I appointed  to 
go  down  to  Eton  on  a certain  day  at  the  beginning  of  this 
month,  and  resume  the  subject.  We  resumed  it  accord- 
ingly at  the  White  Hart,  at  Windsor,  and  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  would  rather  be  a merchant,  and  try 
to  establish  some  good  house  of  business,  where  he  might 
find  a path  perhaps  for  his  younger  brothers,  and  stay  at 
home,  and  make  himself  the  head  of  that  long,  small  pro- 
cession. I was  very  much  pleased  with  him  indeed  ; he 
showed  a fine  sense  and  a fine  feeling  in  the  whole  matter. 
We  have  arranged,  therefore,  that  he  shall  leave  Eton  at 


* The  Great*Duke  of  Wellington’s  funeral. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


339 


Christmas,  and  go  to  Germany  after  the  holidays,  to  be- 
come well  acquainted  with  that  language,  now  most  essen- 
tial in  such  a walk  of  life  as  he  will  probably  tread. 

And  I think  this  is  the  whole  of  my  news.  We  are  al- 
ways talking  of  you  at  home.  Mary  Boyle  dined  with  us 
a little  while  ago.  You  look  out,  I imagine,  on  a waste  of 
water.  When  I came  from  Windsor,  I thought  I must  have 
made  a mistake  and  got  into  a boat  (in  the  dark)  instead 
of  a railway-carriage.  Catherine  and  Georgina  send  their 
kindest  loves.  I am  ever,  with  the  best  and  truest  wishes 
of  my  heart,  my  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Your  most  affectionate  Friend. 

[To  Rev,  James  White ^ ^ 

Office  of  “ Household  Words,”  Monday ^ Nov,  22nd,  1852. 
My  dear  White, 

First  and  foremost,  there  is  no  doubt  whatever  of  your 
story  suiting  Household  Words.'’  It  is  a very  good  story 
indeed,  and  would  be  serviceable  at  any  time.  I am  not 
quite  so  clear  of  its  suiting  the  Christmas  number,  for  this 
reason.  You  know  what  the  spirit  of  the  Christmas  num- 
ber is.  When  I suggested  the  stories  being  about  a high- 
wayman, I got  hold  of  that  idea  as  being  an  adventurous 
one,  including  various  kinds  of  wrong,  expressing  a state 
of  society  no  longer  existing  among  us,  and  pleasant  to  hear 
(therefore)  from  an  old  man.  Now,  your  highwayman  not 
being  a real  highwayman  after  all,  the  kind  of  suitable 
Christmas  interest  I meant  to  awaken  in  the  story  is  not 


340 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


in  it.  Do  you  understand  ? For  an  ordinary  number  it  is 
quite  unobjectionable.  If  you  should  think  of  any  other 
idea,  narratable  by  an  old  man,  which  you  think  would 
strike  the  chord  of  the  season  ; and  if  you  should  find  time 
to  work  it  out  during  the  short  remainder  of  this  month,  I 
should  be  greatly  pleased  to  have  it.  In  any  case,  this 
story  goes  straightway  into  type. 

What  tremendous  weather  it  is  ! Our  best  loves  to  all 
at  home.  (I  have  just  bought  thirty  bottles  of  the  most 
stunning  port  on  earth,  which  Ellis  of  the  Star  and  Garter, 
Richmond,  wrote  to  me  of.) 

I think  you  will  find  some  good  going  in  the  next 

Bleak  House.”  I write  shortly,  having  been  working  my 
head  off. 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 


\^To  Gaskell.^ 

Office  of  “ Household  Words,”  Wednesday,  Dec,  ist,  1852. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Gaskell, 

I send  you  the  proof  of  “ The  Old  Nurse’s  Story,”  with 
my  proposed  alteration.  I shall  be  glad  to  ‘know  whether 
you  approve  of  it.  To  assist  you  in  your  decision,  I send 
you,  also  enclosed,  the  original  ending.  And  I have  made 
a line  with  ink  across  the  last  slip  but  one,  where  the 
alteration  begins.  Of  course  if  you  wish  to  enlarge,  ex- 
plain, or  re-alter,  you  will  do  it.  Do  not  keep  the  proof 
longer  than  you  can  help,  as  I want  to  get  to  press  with  all 
despatch. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DTCICENS. 


34  i 


I hope  I address  this  letter  correctly.  I am  far  from 
sure.  In  haste. 


Ever  faithfully  yours. 


iToMr.  W.H,  Wills 

Tavistock  House,  Thursday,  December  1852. 
My  dear  Wills, 

I am  driven  mad  by  dogs,  who  have  taken  it  into  their 
accursed  heads  to  assemble  every  morning  in  the  piece  of 
ground  opposite,  and  who  have  barked  this  morning  for 
five  hours  without  intermission  j positively  rendering  it  im- 
possible for  me  to  work,  and  so  making  what  is  really 
ridiculous  quite  serious  to  me.  I wish,  beHveen  this  and 
dinner,  you  would  send  John  to  see  if  he  can  hire  a gun, 
with  a few  caps,  some  powder,  and  a few  charges  of  small 
shot.  If  you  duly  commission  him  with  a card,  he  can 
easily  do  it.  And  if  I get  those  implements  up  here 
to-night.  I’ll  be  the  death  of  some  of  them  to-morrow 
morning. 

Ever  faithfully. 


[To  Rev.  James  White. ^ 

Tavistock  House,  Thursday  Evening,  Dec.  <^th,  1852. 
My  dear  White, 

I hear  you  are  not  going  to  poor  Macready’s.  Now, 
don’t  you  think  it  would  do  you  good  to  come  here  in- 
stead ? I say  it  would,  and  I ought  to  know  ! We  can 
give  you  everything  but  a bed  (all  ours  are  occupied  in 


342 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


consequence  of  the  boys  being  at  home),  and  shall  all  be 
delighted  to  see  you.  Leave  the  bed  to  us,  and  we’ll  find 
one  hard  by.  I say  nothing  of  the  last  day  of  the  old  year, 
and  the  dancing  out  of  that  good  old  worthy  that  will  take 
place  here  (for  you  might  like  to  hear  the  bells  at  home)  ; 
but  after  the  twentieth,  I shall  be  comparatively  at  leisure, 
and  good  for  anything  or  nothing.  Don’t  you  consider  it 
your  duty  to  your  family  to  come  ? / do,  and  I again  say 

that  I ought  to  know. 

Our  best  love  to  Mrs.  White  and  Lotty — happily  so 
much  better,  we  rejoice  to  hear — and  all. 

So  no  more  at  present  from 

The  Inimitable  B. 


\To  Mrs.  Gaskell.^ 

Tavistock  House,  Friday,  Dec.  i^th,  1852. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Gaskell, 

I received  your  kind  note  yesterday  morning  with  the 
truest  gratification,  for  I a7n  the  writer  of  “ The  Child’s 
Story  ” as  well  as  of  ‘‘The  Poor  Relation’s.”  I assure 
you,  you  have  given  me  the  liveliest  and  heartiest  pleasure 
by  what  you  say  of  it. 

I don’t  claim  for  my  ending  of  “The  Nurse’s  Story” 
that  it  would  have  made  it  a bit  better.  All  I can  urge  in 
its  behalf  is,  that  it  is  what  I should  have  done  myself. 
But  there  is  no  doubt  of  the  story  being  admirable  as  it 
stands,  and  there  is  some  doubt  (I  think)  whether  Forster 


LE  TIMERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS. 


343 


would  have  found  anything  wrong  in  it,  if  he  had  not 
known  of  my  hammering  over  the  proofs  in  making  up  the 
number,  with  all  the  three  endings  before  me. 

With  kindest  regards  to  Mr.  Gaskell, 

Ever  faithfully  yours. 


[ To  Mr,  W,  Wilkie  Collinsi\ 

Tavistock  House,  Monday,  Dec,  2otk,  1852. 
My  dear  Collins, 

If  I did  not  know  that  you  are  likely  to  have  a forbear- 
ing remembrance  of  my  occupation,  I should  be  full  of 
remorse  for  not  having  sooner  thanked  you  for  Basil.” 
Not  to  play  the  sage  or  the  critic  (neither  of  which 
parts,  I hope,  is  at  all  in  my  line),  but  to  say  what  is  the 
friendly  truth,  I may  assure  you  that  I have  read  the  book 
with  very  great  interest,  and  with  a very  thorough  convic- 
tion that  you  have  a call  to  this  same  art  of  fiction.  I 
i think  the  probabilities  here  and  there  require  a little  more 
respect  than  you  are  disposed  to  show  them,  and  I have 
no  doubt  that  the  prefatory  letter  would  have  been  better 
away,  on  the  ground  that  a book  (of  all  things)  should 
speak  for  and  explain  itself.  But  the  story  contains  ad- 
mirable writing,  and  many  clear  evidences  of  a very  deli- 
cate discrimination  of  character.  It  is  delightful  to  find 
throughout  that  you  have  taken  great  pains  with  it  besides, 
and  have  gone  at  it  ” with  a perfect  knowledge  of  the  jol- 
ter-headedness  of  the  conceited  idiots  who  suppose  that 


344 


LETTERS  OF  til  ARLES  DLCKENS, 


volumes  are  to  be  tossed  off  like  pancakes,  and  that  any 
writing  can  be  done  without  the  utmost  application,  the 
greatest  patience,  and  the  steadiest  energy  of  which  the 
writer  is  capable. 

For  all  these  reasons,  I have  made  “ Basil’s  ” acquaint- 
ance with  great  gratification,  and  entertain  a high  respect 
for  him.  And  I hope  that  I shall  become  intimate  with 
many  worthy  descendants  of  his,  who  are  yet  in  the  limbo 
of  creatures  waiting  to  be  born. 

Always  faithfully  yours. 

P.S. — I am  open  to  any  proposal  to  go  anywhere  any 
day  or  days  this  week.  Fresh  air  and  change  in  any 
amount  I am  ready  for.  If  I could  only  find  an  idle  man 
(this  is  a general  observation),  he  would  find  the  warmest 
recognition  in  this  direction. 

\^To  Mr.  Frank  Stone ^ A.F.A.^ 

Tavistock  House,  Monday  Evenings  Dec.  20tky  1852. 
My  dear  Stone, 

Every  appearance  of  brightness  ! Shall  I expect  you 
to-morrow  morning  ? If  so,  at  what  hour  ? 

I think  of  taking  train  afterwards,  and  going  down  for  a 
walk  on  Chatham  lines.  If  you  can  spare  the  day  for  fresh 
air  and  an  impromptu  bit  of  fish  and  chop,  I can  recom- 
mend you  one  of  the  most  delightful  of  men  for  a com- 
panion. O,  he  is  indeed  refreshing  ! ! ! 


Ever  affectionately  yours. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS, 


345 


iTo  Mr,  W.  H,  Wills.'] 

Office  of  “ Household  Words,”  Christmas  Eve,  1852. 
My  dear  Wills, 

I have  gone  carefully  through  the  number — an  awful 
one  for  the  amount  of  correction  required — and  have  made 
everything  right.  If  my  mind  could  have  been  material- 
ised, and  drawn  along  the  tops  of  all  the  spikes  on  the 
outside  of  the  Queen’s  Bench  prison,  it  could  not  have 
been  more  agonised  than  by  the , which,  for  imbe- 

cility, carelessness,  slovenly  composition,  relatives  without 
antecedents,  universal  chaos,  and  one  absorbing  whirlpool 
of  jolter-headedness,  beats  anything  in  print  and  paper  I 
have  ever  gone  at  ” in  my  life. 

I shall  come  and  see  how  you  are  to-morrow.  Meantime 
everything  is  in  perfect  trim  in  these  parts,  and  I have  sent 
down  to  Stacey  to  come  here  and  top  up  with  a final  inter- 
view before  I go. 

Just  after  I had  sent  the  messenger  off  to  you,  yesterday, 
concerning  the  toll-taker  memoranda,  the  other  idea  came 
into  my  head,  and  in  the  most  obliging  manner  came  out 
of  it. 

Ever  faithfully  yours. 

P.S. — Here  is perpetually  flitting  about  Brydges 

Street,  and  hovering  in  the  neighbourhood,  with  a veil  of 
secrecy  drawn  down  over  his  chin,  so  ludicrously  transpar- 
ent, that  I can’t  help  laughing  while  he  looks  at  me. 

VoL.  I. — 15* 


346  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


\^To  Mr.  G.  Linncms  Banks. ^ 

Tavistock  House,  Sunday,  Dec.  26M,  1852. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I will  not  attempt  to  tell  you  how  affected  and  gratified 
I am  by  the  intelligence  your  kind  letter  conveys  to  me. 
Nothing  would  be  more  welcome  to  me  than  such  a mark 
of  confidence  and  approval  from  such  a source,  nothing 
more  precious,  or  that  I could  set  a higher  worth  upon. 

I hasten  to  return  the  gauges,  of  which  I have  marked 
one  as  the  size  of  the  finger,  from  which  this  token  will 
never  more  be  absent  as  long  as  I live. 

With  feelings  of  the  liveliest  gratitude  and  cordiality 
towards  the  many  friends  who  so  honour  me,  and  with 
many  thanks  to  you  for  the  genial  earnestness  with  which 
you  represent  them, 

I am,  my  dear  Sir,  very  faithfully  yours. 

P.S. — Will  you  do  me  the  favour  to  inform  the  dinner 
committee  that  a friend  of  mine,  Mr.  Clement,  of  Shrews- 
bury, is  very  anxious  to  purchase  a ticket  for  the  dinner, 
and  that  if  they  will  be  so  good  as  to  forward  one  for  him 
to  me  I shall  feel  much  obliged. 

1853- 

NARRATIVE. 

In  this  year,  Charles  Dickens  was  still  writing  Bleak 
House,''  and  went  to  Brighton  for  a short  time  in  the 
spring.  In  May  he  had  an  attack  of  illness,  a return  of 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCICENS, 


347 


an  old  trouble  of  an  inflammatory  pain  in  the  side,  which 
was  short  but  very  severe  while  it  lasted.  Immediately  on 
his  recovery,  early  in  June,  a departure  from  London  for 
the  summer  was  resolved  upon.  He  had  decided  upon 
trying  Boulogne  this  year  for  his  holiday  sojourn,  and  as 
soon  as  he  was  strong  enough  to  travel,  he,  his  wife,  and 
sister-in-law  went  there  in  advance  of  the  family,  taking 
up  their  quarters  at  the  Hotel  des  Bains,  to  find  a 
house,  which  was  speedily  done.  The  pretty  little  Villa 
des  Moulineaux,  and  its  excellent  landlord,  at  once  took 
his  fancy,  and  in  that  house,  and  in  another  on  the  same 
ground,  also  belonging  to  M,  Beaucourt,  he  passed  three 
very  happy  summers.  And  he  became  as  much  attached 
to Our  French  Watering  Place’'  as  to  Our  English’* 
one.  Having  written  a sketch  of  Broadstairs  under  that 
name  in  Household  Words,”  he  did  the  same  of  Bou- 
logne under  the  former  title. 

During  the  summer,  besides  his  other  work,  he  was  em- 
ployed in  dictating  The  Child’s  History  of  England,” 
which  he  published  in  Household  Words,”  and  which 
was  the  only  book  he  ever  wrote  by  dictation.  But,  as  at 
Broadstairs  and  other  seaside  homes,  he  had  always  plenty 
of  relaxation  and  enjoyment  in  the  visits  of  his  friends.  In 
September  he  finished  Bleak  House,”  and  in  October  he 
started  with  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins  and  Mr.  Egg  from  Bou- 
logne, on  an  excursion  through  parts  of  Switzerland  and 
Italy ; his  wife  and  family  going  home  at  the  same  time, 
and  he  himself  returning  to  Tavistock  House  early  in  De- 
cember. His  eldest  son,  Charles,  had  left  Eton  some  time 
before  this,  and  had  gone  for  the  completion  of  his  educa- 
tion to  Leipsic.  He  was  to  leave  Germany  at  the  end  of 
the  year,  therefore  it  was  arranged  that  he  should  meet  the 
travellers  in  Paris  on  their  homeward  journey,  and  they  all 
returned  together. 


348 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


Just  before  Christmas  he  went  to  Birmingham  in  fulfil- 
ment of  an  offer  which  he  had  made  at  the  dinner  given  to 
him  at  Birmingham  on  the  6th  of  January  (of  which  he 
writes  to  Mr.  Macready  in  the  first  letter  that  follows  here), 
to  give  two  readings  from  his  own  books  for  the  benefit  of 
the  New  Midland  Institute.  They  were  his  first  public 
readings.  He  read  The  Christmas  Carol  ’’  on  one  even- 
ing, and  The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth  ” on  the  next,  before 
enormous  audiences.  The  success  was  so  great,  and  the 
sum  of  money  realised  for  the  institute  so  large,  that  he 
consented  to  give  a second  reading  of  “ The  Christmas 
Carol,”  remaining  another  night  in  Birmingham  for  the 
purpose,  on  the  condition  that  seats  were  reserved,  at  prices 
within  their  means,  for  the  working  men.  And  to  his  great 
satisfaction  they  formed  a largb  proportion,  and  were  among 
the  most  enthusiastic  and  appreciative  of  his  audience. 
He  was  accompanied  by  his  wife  and  sister-in-law,  and  on 
this  occasion  a breakfast  was  given  to  him  after  his  last 
reading,  at  which  a silver  flower-basket,  duly  inscribed, 
was  very  gracefully  presented  to  Mrs.  Charles  Dickens. 

The  letters  in  this  year  require  little  explanation.  Those 
to  his  wife  and  sister-in-law  and  Mr.  Wills  give  a little  his- 
tory of  his  Italian  journey.  At  Naples  he  found  his  ex- 
cellent friend  Sir  James  Emerson  Tennent,  with  his  wife 
and  daughter,  with  whom  he  joined  company  in  the  ascent 
of  Vesuvius. 

The  two  letters  to  M.  Regnier,  the  distinguished  actor 
of  the  Theatre  Frangais — with  whom  Charles  Dickens  had 
formed  a sincere  friendship  during  his  first  residence  in 
Paris — on  the  subject  of  a projected  benefit  to  Miss  Kelly, 
need  no  further  explanation. 

Mr.  John  Delane,  editor  of  The  Thnes,  and  always  a 
highly-esteemed  friend,  of  Charles  Dickens,  had  given  him 
an  introduction  to  a school  at  Boulogne,  kept  by  two  Eng- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


349 


lish  gentlemen,  one  a clergyman  and  the  other  a former 
Eton  master,  the  Rev.  W.  Bewsher  and  Mr.  Gibson.  He 
had  at  various  times  four  boys  at  this  school,  and  very  fre- 
quently afterwards  he  expressed  his  gratitude  to  Mr.  De- 
lane for  having  given  him  the  introduction,  which  turned 
out  so  satisfactory  in  every  respect. 

The  letter  of  grateful  acknowledgment  from  Mr.  Poole 
and  Charles  Dickens  to  Lord  Russell  was  for  the  pension 
for  which  the  old  dramatic  author  was  indebted  to  that 
nobleman,  and  which  enabled  him  to  live  comfortably  un- 
til the  end  of  his  life. 

A note  to  Mr.  Marcus  Stone  was  sent  with  a copy  of 
^^The  Child’s  History  of  England.”  The  sketch  referred 
to  was  one  of  Jo’,”  in  Bleak  House,”  which  showed 
great  feeling  and  artistic  promise,  since  fully  fulfilled  by  the 
young  painter,  but  very  remarkable  in  a boy  so  young  as 
he  was  at  that  time.  The  letter  to  Mr.  Stanfield,  in  sea- 
faring language,  is  a specimen  of  a playful  way  in  which 
he  frequently  addressed  that  dear  friend. 


iTo  Mr,  W.  H,  Wills 

“A  curiosity  from  him.  No  date.  No  signature.” — W.  H.  H. 
My  dear  Wills, 

I have  not  a shadow  of  a doubt  about  Miss  Martineau’s 
story.  It  is  certain  to  tell.  I think  it  very  effectively, 
admirably  done  ; a fine  plain  purpose  in  it ; quite  a singu- 
lar novelty.  For  the  last  story  in  the  Christmas  number 
it  will  be  great.  I couldn’t  wish  for  a better. 

Mrs.  Gaskell’s  ghost  story  I have  got  this  morning  ; have 
not  yet  read.  It  is  long. 


350 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


\To  Mr.  Clarkson  Stanfield.^ 

H.M.S.  Tavistock^  yanuary  2nd^  1853. 

Yoho,  old  salt  ! Neptun'  ahoy  ! You  don’t  forget, 
messmet,  as  you  was  to  meet  Dick  Sparkler  and  Mark 
Porpuss  on  the  fok’sle  of  the  good  ship  Owssel  Words, 
Wednesday  next,  half-past  four  ? Not  you  ; for  when  did 
Stanfell  ever  pass  his  word  to  go  anywheers  and  not  come  ! 
Well.  Belay,  my  heart  of  oak,  belay  ! Come  alongside 
the  Tavistock  same  day  and  hour,  ’stead  of  Owssel  Words, 
Hail  your  shipmets,  and  they’ll  drop  over  the  side  and  join 
you,  like  two  new  shillings  a-droppin’  into  the  purser’s 
pocket.  Damn  all  lubberly  boys  and  swabs,  and  give  me 
the  lad  with  the  tarry  trousers,  which  shines  to  me  like 
di’mings  bright  ! 

[^To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready^ 

Tavistock  House,  Friday  Night,  Jan.  14M,  1853. 
My  dearest  Macready, 

I have  been  much  affected  by  the  receipt  of  your  kind- 
est and  best  of  letters  ; for  I know  out  of  the  midst  of  what 
anxieties  it  comes  to  me,  and  I appreciate  such  remem- 
brance from  my  heart.  You  and  yours  are  always  with 
us,  however.  It  is  no  new  thing  for  you  to  have  a part  in 
any  scene  from  my  life.  It  very  rarely  happens  that  a day 
passes  without  our  thoughts  and  conversation  travelling  to 
Sherborne.  We  are  so  much  there  that  I cannot  tell  you 
how  plainly  I see  you  as  I write. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


351 


I know  you  would  have  been  full  of  sympathy  and  ap- 
proval if  you  had  been  present  at  Birmingham,  and  that 
you  would  have  concurred  in  the  tone  I tried  to  take  about 
the  eternal  duties  of  the  arts  to  the  people.  I took  the 
liberty  of  putting  the  court  and  that  kind  of  thing  out  of 
the  question,  and  recognising  nothing  bitt  the  arts  and  the 
people.  The  more  we  see  of  life  and  its  brevity,  and  the 
world  and  its  varieties,  the  more  we  know  that  no  exercise 
of  our  abilities  in  any  art,  but  the  addressing  of  it  to  the 
great  ocean  of  humanity  in  which  we  are  drops,  and  not 
to  bye-ponds  (very  stagnant)  here  and  there,  ever  can  or 
ever  will  lay  the  foundations  of  an  endurable  retrospect. 
Is  it  not  so  ? You  should  have  as  much  practical  in- 
formation on  this  subject,  now,  my  dear  friend,  as  any 
man. 

My  dearest  Macready,  I cannot  forbear  this  closing 
word.  I still  look  forward  to  our  meeting  as  we  used  to 
do  in  the  happy  times  we  have  known  together,  so  far  as 
your  old  hopefulness  and  energy  are  concerned.  And  I 
think  I never  in  my  life  have  been  more  glad  to  receive  a 
sign,  than  I have  been  to  hail  that  which  I find  in  your 
handwriting. 

Some  of  your  old  friends  at  Birmingham  are  full  of  in- 
terest and  enquiry.  Kate  and  Georgina  send  their  dear- 
est loves  to  you,  and  to  Miss  Macready,  and  to  all  the 
children.  I am  ever,  and  no  matter  where  I am — and 
quite  as  much  in  a crowd  as  alone — my  dearest  Mac- 
ready 

Your  affectionate  and  most  attached  Friend. 


352 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


\To  Mrs.  GasLell.] 

Tavistock  House,  May  3n/,  1853. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Gaskell, 

The  subject  is  certainly  not  too  serious,  so  sensibly 
treated.  I have  no  doubt  that  you  may  do  a great  deal  of 
good  by  pursuing  it  in  “ Household  Words.”  I thoroughly 
agree  in  all  you  say  in  your  note,  have  similar  reasons  for 
giving  it  some  anxious  consideration,  and  shall  be  greatly 
interested  in  it.  Pray  decide  to  do  it.  Send  the  papers, 
as  you  write  them,  to  me.  Meanwhile  I will  think  of  a 
name  for  them,  and  bring  it  to  bear  upon  yours,  if  I think 
yours  improvable.  I am  sure  you  may  rely  on  being  widely 
understood  and  sympathised  'with. 

Forget  that  I called  those  two  women  my  dear  friends  ! 
Why,  if  I told  you  a fiftieth  part  of  what  I have  thought 
about  them,  you  would  write  me  the  most  suspicious  of 
notes,  refusing  to  receive  the  fiftieth  part  of  that.  So  I 
don’t  write,  particularly  as  you  laid  your  injunctions  on 
me  concerning  Ruth.  In  revenge,  I will  now  mention  one 
word  that  I wish  you  would  take  out  whenever  you  reprint 
that  book.  She  would  never — I am  ready  to  make  affi- 
davit before  any  authority  in  the  land — have  called  her  se- 
ducer Sir,”  when  they  were  living  at  that  hotel  in  Wales. 
A girl  pretending  to  be  what  she  really  was  would  have 
done  it,  but  she — never  ! 


Ever  most  faithfully  yours. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


353 


\_To  Monsieur  Regnier^ 

Tavistock  House,  Monday,  May  gfk,  1853. 
My  dear  Regnier, 

I meant  to  have  spoken  to  you  last  night  about  a matter 
in  which  I hope  you  can  assist  me,  but  I forgot  it.  I think 
I must  have  been  quite  bouleverse  by  your  supposing  (as 
you  pretended  to  do,  when  you  went  away)  that  it  was 
not  a great  pleasure  and  delight  to  me  to  see  you  act ! 

There  is  a certain  Miss  Kelly,  now  sixty-two  years  old, 
who  was  once  one  of  the  very  best  of  English  actresses,  in 
the  greater  and  better  days  of  the  English  theatre.  She 
has  much  need  of  a benefit,  and  I am  exerting  myself  to 
arrange  one  for  her,  on  about  the  9th  of  June,  if  pos- 
sible, at  the  St.  James's  Theatre.  The  first  piece  will  be 
an  entertainment  of  her  own,  and  she  will  act  in  the  last. 
Between  these  two  (and  at  the  best  time  of  the  uight),  it 
would  be  a great  attraction  to  the  public,  and  a great  proof 
of  friendship  to  me,  if  you  would  act.  If  we  could  man- 
age, through  your  influence  and  with  your  assistance,  to 
present  a little  French  vaudeville,  such  as  Le  bon  Homme 
jadis^"'  it  would  make  the  night  a grand  success. 

Mitchell's  permission,  I suppose,  would  be  required. 
That  I will  undertake  to  apply  for,  if  you  will  tell  me  that 
you  are  willing  to  help  us,  and  that  you  could  answer  for 
the  other  necessary  actors  in  the  little  French  piece,  what- 
ever the  piece  might  be,  that  you  would  choose  for  the 
purpose.  Pray  write  me  a short  note  in  answer,  on  this 
point. 


354 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


I ought  to  tell  you  that  the  benefit  will  be  under  dis- 
tinguished patronage/'  The  Duke  of  Devonshire,  the  Duke 
of  Leinster,  the  Duke  of  Beaufort,  etc.  etc.,  are  members 
of  the  committee  with  me,  and  I have  no  doubt  that  the 
audience  will  be  of  the  elite, 

I have  asked  Mr.  Chapman  to  come  to  me  to-morrow, 
to  arrange  for  the  hiring  of  the  theatre.  Mr.  Harley  (a 
favourite  English  comedian  whom  you  may  know)  is  our 
secretary.  And  if  I could  assure  the  committee  to-morrow 
afternoon  of  your  co-operation,  I am  sure  they  would  be 
overjoyed. 

Votre  tout  devoue. 


[7h  Monsieur  Regnierl\ 

Tavistock  House,  May  20th,  1853. 

My  dear  Regnier, 

I am  heartily  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  letter  respect- 
ing Miss  Kelly’s  benefit.  It  is  to  take  place  on  Thursday^ 
the  16th  June ; Thursday  the  9th  (the  day  originally  pro- 
posed) being  the  day  of  Ascot  Races,  and  therefore  a bad 
one  for  the  purpose. 

Mitchell,  like  a brave  gar^on  as  he  is,  most  willingly 
consents  to  your  acting  for  us.  Will  you  think  what  little 
French  piece  it  will  be  best  to  do,  in  order  that  I may  have 
it  ready  for  the  bills  ? • 

Ever  faithfully  yours,  my  dear  Regnier. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  355 

S^To  Mr.  W.  H.  Wt'lls.] 

Boulogne,  Monday,  June  13th,  1853. 

My  dear  Wills, 

You  will  be  glad,  I know,  to  hear  that  we  had  a delight- 
ful passage  yesterday,  and  that  I made  a perfect  pheno- 
menon of  a dinner.  It  is  raining  hard  to-day,  and  my 
back  feels  the  draught ; but  I am  otherwise  still  mending. 

I have  signed,  sealed,  and  delivered  a contract  for  a house 
(once  occupied  for  two  years  by  a man  I knew  in  Switzer- 
land), which  is  not  a large  one,  but  stands  in  the  middle 
of  a great  garden,  with  what  the  landlord  calls  a forest  ” 
at  the  back,  and  is  now  surrounded  by  flowers,  vegetables, 
and  all  manner  of  growth.  A queer,  odd,  French  place, 
but  extremely  well  supplied  with  all  table  and  other  con- 
veniences, and  strongly  recommended. 

The  address  is : 

Chateau  des  Moulineaux, 

Rue  Beaurepaire,  Boulogne. 

There  is  a coach-house,  stabling  for  half-a-dozen  of 
horses,  and  I don’t  know  what. 

We  take  possession  this  afternoon,  and  I am  now  laying 
^ in  a good  stock  of  creature  comforts.  So  no  more  at  pres- 
ent from 

Yours  ever  faithfully. 

P.S. — Mrs.  Dickens  and  her  sister  unite  in  kindest  re- 
gards. 


35^  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


iToMr.  W.H.  m/ls.] 


Chateau  des  Moulineaux,  Boulogne, 

Saturday  Night,  June  1853. 

My  dear  Wills, 

Bleak  House.” 

Thank  God,  I have  done  half  the  number  with  great 
care,  and  hope  to  finish  on  Thursday  or  Friday  next.  O 
how  thankful  I feel  to  be  able  to  have  done  it,  and  what 
a relief  to  get  the  number  out ! 

General  Movements  of  Inimitable. 

I don  t think  (I  am  not  sure)  I shall  come  to  London 
until  after  the  completion  of  “Bleak  House,”  No.  18 — the 
number  after  this  now  in  hand — for  it  strikes  me  that  I am 
better  here  at  present.  I have  picked  up  in  the  most  ex- 
traordinary manner,  and  I believe  you  would  never  sup- 
pose to  look  at  me  that  I had  had  that  week  or  barely  an 
hour  of  it.  If  there  should  be  any  occasion  for  our  meet- 
ing in  the  meantime,  a run  over  here  would  do  you  no 
harm,  and  we  should  be  delighted  to  see  you  at  any  time. 
If  you  suppose  this  place  to  be  in  a street,  you  are  much 
mistaken.  It  is  in  the  country,  though  not  more  than  ten 
minutes’  walk  from  the  post-office,  and  is  the  best  doll’s- 
house  of  many  rooms,  in  the  prettiest  French  grounds,  in 
the  most  charming  situation  I have  ever  seen  ; the  best 
place  I have  ever  lived  in  abroad,  except  at  Genoa.  You 
can  scarcely  imagine  the  beauty  of  the  air  in  this  richly- 
wooded  hill-side.  As  to  comforts  in  the  house,  there  are 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


357 


all  sorts  of  things,  beginning  with  no  end  of  the  coldest 
water  and  running  through  the  most  beautiful  flowers  down 
to  English  foot-baths  and  a Parisian  liqueur-stand.  Your 
parcel  (frantic  enclosures  and  all)  arrived  quite  safely  last 
night.  This  will  leave  by  steamer  to-morrow,  Sunday 
evening.  There  is  a boat  in  the  morning,  but  having  no 
one  to  send  to-night  I can’t  reach  it,  and  to-morrow  being 
Sunday  it  will  come  to  much  the  same  thing. 

I think  that’s  all  at  present. 

Ever,  my  dear  Wills,  faithfully  yours. 


[7h  Mr.  Frank  Stone.,  A.F.A.] 

Chateau  des  Moulineaux,  Rue  Beaurepaire,  Boulogne, 

Thursday,  yune  22,rd,  1853. 

My  dear  Pumpion, 

I take  the  earliest  opportunity,  after  finishing  my  num- 
ber— ahem  ! — to  write  you  a line,  and  to  report  myself 
(thank  God)  brown,  well,  robust,  vigorous,  open  to  fight 
any  man  in  England  of  my  weight,  and  growing  a mous- 
tache. Any  person  of  undoubted  pluck,  in  want  of  a cus- 
tomer, may  hear  of  me  at  the  bar  of  Bleak  House,  where 
my  money  is  down. 

I think  there  is  an  abundance  of  places  here  that  would 
suit  you  well  enough  ; and  Georgina  is  ready  to  launch 
on  voyages  of  discovery  and  observation  with  you.  But  it 
is  necessary  that  you  should  consider  for  how  long  a time 
you  want  it,  as  the  folks  here  let  much  more  advanta 
ously  for  the  tenant  when  they  know  the  term — do* 
to  let  without.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  best  thin 
do  is  to  get  a paper  of  the  South  Eastern  tida 


358  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


your  day  for  coming  over  here  in  five  hours  (when  you 
will  pay  through  to  Boulogne  at  London  Bridge),  let  me 
know  the  day,  and  come  and  see  how  you  like  the  place. 
/ like  it  better  than  ever.  We  can  give  you  a bed  (two 
to  spare,  at  a pinch  three),  and  show  you  a garden  and  a 
view  or  so.  The  town  is  not  so  cheap  as  places  farther 
off,  but  you  get  a great  deal  for  your  money,  and  by  far 
the  best  wine  at  tenpence  a bottle  that  I ever  drank  any- 
where. I really  desire  no  better. 

I may  mention  for  your  guidance  (for  I count  upon 
your  coming  to  overhaul  the  general  aspect  of  things),  that 
you  have  nothing  on  earth  to  do  with  your  luggage  when 
it  is  once  in  the  boat,  until  after  you  have  walked  ashore. 
That  you  will  be  filtered  with  the  rest  of  the  passengers 
through  a hideous,  whitewashed,  quarantine-looking  cus- 
tom-house, where  a stern  man  of  a military  aspect  will  de- 
mand your  passport.  That  you  will  have  nothing  of  the 
sort,  but  will  produce  your  card  with  this  addition  : Re- 

stant  a Boulogne,  chez  M.  Charles  Dickens,  Chateau  des 
Moulineaux.’'  That  you  will  then  be  passed  out  at  a little 
door,  like  one  of  the  ill-starred  prisoners  on  the  bloody  Sep- 
tember night,  into  a yelling  and  shrieking  crowd,  cleaving 
the  air  with  the  names  of  the  different  hotels,  exactly  seven 
thousand  six  hundred  and  fifty-four  in  number.  And  that 
your  heart  will  be  on  the  point  of  sinking  with  dread,  then 
you  will  find  yourself  in  the  arms  of  the  Sparkler  of  Albion. 
All  unite  in  kindest  regards. 

Ever  affectionately. 

P.S. — I thought  you  might  like  to  see  the  flourish  again. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


359 


yro  Mr.  w.H.  wiiis:\ 

Boulogne,  Wednesday^  July  1853. 

My  dear  Wills, 

I have  thought  of  another  article  to  be  called  “ Frauds 
upon  the  Fairies,”  a propos  of  George  Cruikshank’s  editing. 
Half  playfully,  and  half  seriously,  I mean  to  protest  most 
strongly  against  alteration,  for  any  purpose,  of  the  beauti- 
ful little  stories  which  are  so  tenderly  and  humanly  useful 
to  us  in  these  times,  when  the  world  is  too  much  with  us, 
early  and  late  ; and  then  to  re-write  Cinderella  ” accord- 
ing to  Total  Abstinence,  Peace  Society,  and  Bloomer  prin- 
ciples, and  expressly  for  their  propagation. 

I shall  want  his  book  of  Hop  o’  my  Thumb  ” (Forster 
noticed  it  in  the  last  Examiner').,  and  the  most  simple  and 
popular  version  of  “ Cinderella  ” you  can  get  me.  I shall 
not  be  able  to  do  it  until  after  finishing  Bleak  House,” 
but  I shall  do  it  the  more  easily  for  having  the  books  by 
me.  So  send  them,  if  convenient,  in  your  next  parcel. 

Ever  faithfully. 

[ To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready.  ] 

Chateau  des  Moulineaux,  Boulogne, 

Sunday,  Aug.  2^th,  1853. 

My  dearest  Macready, 

Some  unaccountable  delay  in  the  transmission  here  of 
the  parcel  which  contained  your  letter,  caused  me  to  come 
into  the  receipt  of  it  a whole  week  after  its  date.  I imme- 
diately wrote  to  Miss  Coutts,  who  has  written  to  you,  and 


36o 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


I hope  some  good  may  come  of  it.  I know  it  will  not  be 
her  fault  if  none  does.  I was  very  much  concerned  to 
read  your  account  of  poor  Mrs.  Warner,  and  to  read  her 
own  plain  and  unaffected  account  of  herself.  Pray  assure 
her  of  my  cordial  sympathy  and  remembrance,  and  of  my 
earnest  desire  to  do  anything  in  my  power  to  help  to  put 
her  mind  at  ease. 

We  are  living  in  a beautiful  little  country  place  here, 
where  I have  been  hard  at  work  ever  since  I came,  and 
am  now  (after  an  interval  of  a week’s  rest)  going  to  work 
again  to  finish  “ Bleak  House.”  Kate  and  Georgina  send 
their  kindest  loves  to  you,  and  Miss  Macready,  and  all  the 
rest.  They  look  forward,  I assure  you,  to  their  Sherborne 
visit,  when  I — a mere  forlorn  wanderer — shall  be  roaming 
over  the  Alps  into  Italy.  I saw  The  Midsummer  Night’s 
Dream  ” of  the  Opera  Comique,  done  here  (very  well)  last 
night.  The  way  in  which  a poet  named  Willyim  Shay  Kes 
Peer  gets  drunk  in  company  with  Sir  John  Foil  Stayffe, 
fights  with  a noble  ’night.  Lor  Latimeer  (who  is  in  love 
with  a maid-of-honour  you  may  have  read  of  in  history, 
called  Mees  Oleevia),  and  promises  not  to  do  so  any  more 
on  observing  symptoms  of  love  for  him  in  the  Queen  of 
England,  is  very  remarkable.  Queen  Elizabeth,  too,  in 
the  profound  and  impenetrable  disguise  of  a black  velvet 
mask,  two  inches  deep  by  three  broad,  following  him  into 
taverns  and  worse  places,  and  enquiring  of  persons  of 
doubtful  reputation  for ‘Hhe  sublime  Williams,”  was  in- 
expressibly ridiculous.  And  yet  the  nonsense  was  done 
with  a sense  quite  admirable. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


361 


I have  been  very  much  struck  by  the  book  you  sent  me. 
It  is  one  of  the  wisest,  the  manliest,  and  most  serviceable  I 
ever  read.  I am  reading  it  again  with  the  greatest  pleas- 
ure and  admiration. 

Ever  most  affectionately  yours. 

My  dear  Macready. 

iTo  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson^ 

Villa  des  Moulineaux,  Boulogne, 

Saturday^  Aug,  27//^,  1853. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

I received  your  letter — most  welcome  and  full  of  inter- 
est to  me — when  I was  hard  at  work  finishing  Bleak 
House.”  We  are  always  talking  of  you  ; and  I had  said 
but  the  day  before,  that  one  of  the  first  things  I would  do 
on  my  release  would  be  to  write  to  you.  To  finish  the 
topic  of  Bleak  House  ” at  once,  I will  only  add  that  I 
like  the  conclusion  very  much  and  think  it  very  pretty  in- 
deed. The  story  has  taken  extraordinarily,  especially  dur- 
ing the  last  five  or  six  months,  when  its  purpose  has  been 
gradually  working  itself  out.  It  has  retained  its  immense 
circulation  from  the  first,  beating  dear  old  Copperfield  ” 
by  a round  ten  thousand  or  more.  I have  never  had  so 
many  readers.  We  had  a little  reading  of  the  final  double 
number  here  the  night  before  last,  and  it  made  a great  im- 
pression I assure  you. 

We  are  all  extremely  well,  and  like  Boulogne  very  much 
indeed.  I laid  down  the  rule  before  we  came,  that  we 
would  know  nobody  here,  and  we  do  know  nobody  here. 

VoL.  I. — 16 


362  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

We  evaded  callers  as  politely  as  we  could,  and  gradually 
came  to  be  understood  and  left  to  ourselves.  It  is  a fine 
bracing  air,  a beautiful  open  country,  and  an  admirable 
mixture  of  town  and  country.  We  live  on  a green  hill- 
side out  of  the  town,  but  are  in  the  town  (on  foot)  in  ten 
minutes.  Things  are  tolerably  cheap,  and  exceedingly 
good  ; the  people  very  cheerful,  good-looking,  and  oblig- 
ing ; the  houses  very  clean  ; the  distance  to  London  short, 
and  easily  traversed.  I think  if  you  came  to  know  the 
place  (which  I never  did  myself  until  last  October,  often 
as  I have  been  through  it),  you  could  be  but  in  one  mind 
about  it. 

Charley  is  still  at  Leipzig.  I shall  take  him  up  some- 
where on  the  Rhine,  to  bring  him  home  for  Christmas,  as 
I come  back  on  my  own  little  tour.  He  has  been  in  the 
Hartz  Mountains  on  a walking  tour,  and  has  written  a 
journal  thereof,  which  he  has  sent  home  in  portions.  It 
has  cost  about  as  much  in  postage  as  would  have  bought 
a pair  of  ponies. 

I contemplate  starting  from  here  on  Monday,  the  loth 
of  October  ; Catherine,  Georgina,  and  the  rest  of  them 
will  then  go  home.  I shall  go  first  by  Paris  and  Geneva 
to  Lausanne,  for  it  has  a separate  place  in  my  memory.  If 
the  autumn  should  be  very  fine  (just  possible  after  such 
a summer),  I shall  then  go  by  Chamonix  and  Martigny, 
over  the  Simplon  to  Milan,  thence  to  Genoa,  Leghorn, 
Pisa,  and  Naples,  thence,  I hope,  to  Sicily.  Back  by  Bo- 
logna, Florence,  Rome,  Verona,  Mantua,  etc.,  to  Venice, 
and  home  by  Germany,  arriving  in  good  time  for  Christ- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  3^3 


mas  Day.  Three  nights  in  Christmas  week,  I have  prom- 
ised to  read  in  the  Town  Hall  at  Birmingham,  for  the 
benefit  of  a new  and  admirable  institution  for  working 
men  projected  there.  The  Friday  will  be  the  last  night, 
and  I shall  read  the  Carol”  to  two  thousand  working 
people,  stipulating  that  they  shall  have  that  night  entirely 
to  themselves. 

It  just  occurs  to  me  that  I mean  to  engage,  for  the  two 
months  odd,  a travelling  servant.  I have  not  yet  got  one. 
If  you  should  happen  to  be  interested  in  any  good  for- 
eigner, well  acquainted  with  the  countries  and  the  lan- 
guages, who  would  like  such  a master,  how  delighted  I 
should  be  to  like  him  ! 

Ever  since  I have  been  here,  I have  been  very  hard  at 
work,  often  getting  up  at  daybreak  to  write  through  many 
hours.  I have  never  had  the  least  return  of  illness,  thank 
God,  though  I was  so  altered  (in  a week)  when  I came 
here,  that  I doubt  if  you  would  have  known  me.  I am 
redder  and  browner  than  ever  at  the  present  writing,  with 
the  addition  of  a rather  formidable  and  fierce  moustache. 
Lowestoft  I know,  by  walking  over  there  from  Yarmouth, 
when  I went  down  on  an  exploring  expedition,  previous  to 
“ Copperfield.”  It  is  a fine  place.  I saw  the  name  Blun- 
derstone  ” on  a direction-post  between  it  and  Yarmouth, 
and  took  it  from  the  said  direction-post  for  the  book.  We 
imagined  the  Captain’s  ecstasies  when  we  saw  the  birth  of 
his  child  in  the  papers.  In  some  of  the  descriptions  of 
Chesney  Wold,  I have  taken  many  bits,  chiefly  about  trees 
and  shadows,  from  observations  made  at  Rockingham.  I 


364  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

wonder  whether  you  have  ever  thought  so  ! I shall  hope 
to  hear  from  you  again  soon,  and  shall  not  fail  to  write 
again  before  I go  away.  There  seems  to  be  nothing  but 
1 ” in  this  letter  ; but  ’’  know,  my  dear  friend,  that 
you  will  be  more  interested  in  that  letter  in  the  present 
connection,  than  in  any  other  I could  take  from  the  al- 
phabet. 

Catherine  and  Georgina  send  their  kindest  loves,  and 
more  messages  than  this  little  sheet  would  hold.  If  I were 
to  give  you  a hint  of  what  we  feel  at  the  sight  of  your 
handwriting,  and  at  the  receipt  of  a word  from  yourself 
about  yourself,  and  the  dear  boys,  and  the  precious  little 
girls,  I should  begin  to  be  sorrowful,  which  is  rather  the 
tendency  of  my  mind  at  the  close  of  another  long  book. 
I heard  from  Cerjat  two  or  three  days  since.  Goff,  by-the- 
bye,  lived  in  this  house  two  years. 

Ever,  my  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Yours,  with  true  affection’ and  regard. 

[7h  Mr,  Peter  Cunningham?^ 

Chateau  des  Moulineaux,  Rue  Beaurepaire,  Boulogne. 

My  dear  Cunningham, 

A note — Cerberus-like — of  three  heads. 

First.  I know  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  the  manager 
is  himself  again.  Vigorous,  brown,  energetic,  muscular  ; 
the  pride  of  Albion  and  the  admiration  of  Gaul. 

Secondly.  I told  Wills  when  I left  home,  that  I was 
quite  pained  to  see  the  end  of  your  excellent  “ Bowl  of 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  3^5 


Punch  ” altered.  I was  unaffectedly  touched  and  grati- 
fied by  the  heartiness  of  the  original ; and  saw  no  earthly, 
celestial,  or  subterranean  objection  to  its  remaining,  as  it 
did  not  so  unmistakably  apply  to  me  as  to  necessitate  the 
observance  of  my  usual  precaution  in  the  case  of  such  ref- 
erences, by  any  means. 

Thirdly.  If  you  ever  have  a holiday  that  you  don’t 
know  what  to  do  with,  do  come  and  pass  a little  time  here. 
We  live  in  a charming  garden  in  a very  pleasant  country, 
and  should  be  delighted  to  receive  you.  Excellent  light 
wines  on  the  premises,  French  cookery,  millions  of  roses, 
two  cows  (for  milk  punch),  vegetables  cut  for  the  pot,  and 
handed  in  at  the  kitchen  window  ; five  summer-houses, 
fifteen  fountains  (with  no  water  in  'em),  and  thirty-seven 
clocks  (keeping,  as  I conceive,  Australian  time  ; having 
no  reference  whatever  to  the  hours  on  this  side  of  the 
globe). 

I know,  my  dear  Cunningham,  that  the  British  nation 
can  ill  afford  to  lose  you ; and  that  when  the  Audit  Office 
mice  are  away,  the  cats  of  that  great  public  establishment 
will  play.  But  pray  consider  that  the  bow  may  be  some- 
times bent  too  long,  and  that  ever-arduous  application, 
even  in  patriotic  service,  is  to  be  avoided.  No  one  can 
more  highly  estimate  your  devotion  to  the  best  interests  of 
Britain  than  I.  But  I wish  to  see  it  tempered  with  a wise 
consideration  for  your  own  amusement,  recreation,  and 
pastime.  All  work  and  no  play  may  make  Peter  a dull 
boy  as  well  as  Jack.  And  (if  I may  claim  the  privilege 
of  friendship  to  remonstrate)  I would  say  that  you  do  not 


366  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


take  enough  time  for  your  meals.  Dinner,  for  instance, 
you  habitually  neglect.  Believe  me,  this  rustic  repose  will 
do  you  good.  Winkles  also  are  to  be  obtained  in  these 
parts,  and  it  is  well  remarked  by  Poor  Richard,  that  a bird 
in  the  handbook  is  worth  two  in  the  bush. 

Ever  cordially  yours. 


\To  Mr.  Walter  Savage  Landorl\ 

Tavistock  House,  London,  Sept.  Ztk,  1853. 
My  dear  Landor, 

I am  in  town  for  a day  or  two,  and  Forster  tells  me  I 
may  now  write  to  thank  you  for  the  happiness  you  have 
given  me  by  honouring  my  name  with  such  generous  men- 
tion, on  such  a noble  place,  in  your  great  book.  I believe 
he  has  told  you  already  that  I wrote  to  him  from  Boulogne, 
not  knowing  what  to  do,  as  I had  not  received  the  pre- 
cious volume,  and  feared  you  might  have  some  plan  of 
sending  it  to  me,  with  which  my  premature  writing  would 
interfere. 

You  know  how  heartily  and  inexpressibly  I prize  what 
you  have  written  to  me,  or  you  never  would  have  selected 
me  for  such  a distinction.  I could  never  thank  you  enough, 
my  dear  Landor,  and  I will  not  thank  you  in  words  any 
more.  Believe  me,  I receive  the  dedication  like  a great 
dignity,  the  worth  of  which  I hope  I thoroughly  know.  The 
Queen  could  give  me  none  in  exchange  that  I wouldn’t 
laughingly  snap  my  fingers  at. 

We  are  staying  at  Boulogne  until  the  loth  of  October, 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  367 

when  I go  into  Italy  until  Christmas,  and  the  rest  come 
home. 

Kate  and  Georgina  would  send  you  their  best  loves  if 
they  were  here,  and  would  never  leave  off  talking  about  it 
if  I went  back  and  told  them  that  I had  written  to  you  with- 
out such  mention  of  them.  Walter  is  a very  good  boy,  and 
comes  home  from  school  with  honourable  commendation. 
He  passed  last  Sunday  in  solitary  confinement  (in  a bath- 
room) on  bread  and  water,  for  terminating  a dispute  with 
the  nurse  by  throwing  a chair  in  her  direction.  It  is  the 
very  first  occasion  of  his  ever  having  got  into  trouble,  for 
he  is  a great  favourite  with  the  whole  house,  and  one  of 
the  most  amiable  boys  in  the  boy  world.  (He  comes  out 
on  birthdays  in  a blaze  of  shirt-pin). 

If  I go  and  look  at  your  old  house,  as  I shall  if  I go  to 
Florence,  I shall  bring  you  back  another  leaf  from  the 
same  tree  as  I plucked  the  last  from. 

Ever,  my  dear  Landor, 

Heartily  and  affectionately  yours. 

[ To  Mr.  John  Delane ^ 

Villa  des  Moulineaux,  Boulogne, 

Monday^  Sept.  \2th^  1853. 

My  dear  Delane, 

I am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  I assure  you,  for  your 
frank  and  full  reply  to  my  note.  Nothing  could  be  more 
satisfactory,  and  I have  to-day  seen  Mr.  Gibson  and  placed 
my  two  small  representatives  under  his  charge.  His  man- 


368  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


ner  is  exactly  what  you  describe  him.  I was  greatly  pleased 
with  his  genuineness  altogether. 

We  remain  here  until  the  tenth  of  next  month,  when  I 
am  going  to  desert  my  wife  and  family  and  run  about  Italy 
until  Christmas.  If  I can  execute  any  little  commission 
for  you  or  Mrs.  Delane — in  the  Genoa  street  of  silversmiths, 
or  anywhere  else — I shall  be  delighted  to  do  so.  I have 
been  in  the  receipt  of  several  letters  from  Macready  lately, 
and  rejoice  to  find  him  quite  himself  again,  though  I have 
great  misgivings  that  he  will  lose  his  eldest  boy  before  he 
can  be  got  to  India. 

Mrs.  Dickens  and  her  sister  are  proud  of  your  message, 
and  beg  their  kind  regards  to  be  forwarded  in  return  ; my 
other  half  being  particularly  comforted  and  encouraged  by 
your  account  of  Mr.  Gibson.  In  this  charge  I am  to  in- 
clude Mrs.  Delane,  who,  I hope,  will  make  an  exchange 
of  remembrances,  and  give  me  hers  for  mine. 

I never  saw  anything  so  ridiculous  as  this  place  at  pres- 
ent. They  expected  the  Emperor  ten  or  twelve  days  ago, 
and  put  up  all  manner  of  triumphal  arches  made  of  ever- 
greens, which  look  like  tea-leaves  now,  and  will  take  a 
withered  and  weird  appearance  hardly  to  be  foreseen,  long 
before  the  twenty-fifth,  when  the  visit  is  vaguely  expected 
to  come  off.  In  addition  to  these  faded  garlands  all  over 
the  leading  streets,  there  are  painted  eagles  hoisted  ovej* 
gateways  and  sprawling  across  a hundred  ways,  which 
have  been  washed  out  by  the  rain  and  are  now  being  blis- 
tered by  the  sun,  until  they  look  horribly  ludicrous.  And 
a number  of  our  benighted  compatriots  who.  came  over  to 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS,  369 


see  a perfect  blaze  of  fetes,  go  wandering  among  these 
shrivelled  preparations  and  staring  at  ten  thousand  flag- 
poles without  any  flags  upon  them,  with  a kind  of  indig- 
nant curiosity  and  personal  injury  quite  irresistible.  With 
many  thanks, 

Very  faithfully  yours. 


iToMr,  W,H.  Wills,\ 

Boulogne,  Sunday,  Sept.  1853. 

My  dear  Wills, 


Courier^ 

Edward  Kaub  will  bring  this.  He  turned  up  yesterday, 
accounting  for  his  delay  by  waiting  for  a written  recom- 
mendation, and  having  at  the  last  moment  (as  a foreigner, 
not  being  an  Englishman)  a passport  to  get.  I quite  agree 
with  you  as  to  his  appearance  and  manner,  and  have  en- 
gaged him.  It  strikes  me  that  it  would  be  an  excellent 
beginning  if  you  would  deliver  him  a neat  and  appropriate 
address,  telling  him  what  in  your  conscience  you  can  find 
to  tell  of  me  favourably  as  a master,  and  particularly  im- 
pressing upon  him  readiness  and  punctuality  on  his  part  as 
the  great  things  to  be  observed.  I think  it  would  have  a 
much  better  effect  than  anything  I could  say  in  this  stage, 
if  said  from  yourself.  But  I shall  be  much  obliged  to  you 
if  you  will  act  upon  this  hint  forthwith. 


W.  H.  Wills. 


No  letter  having  arrived  from  the  popular  author  of 
The  Larboard  Fin,'’  * by  this  morning’s  post,  I rather 


* Meaning  Mr.  W.  H,  Wills  himself. 

VOL.  I.— 16* 


370 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


think  one  must  be  on  the  way  in  the  pocket  of  Gordon’s 
son.  If  Kaub  calls  for  this  before  young  Scotland  arrives, 
you  will  understand  if  I do  not  herein  refer  to  an  unre- 
ceived letter.  But  I shall  leave  this  open,  until  Kaub 
comes  for  it. 

Ever  faithfully. 


[7b  the  Lord  John  Russell^ 

Villa  des  Moulineaux,  Boulogne, 

Wednesday,  Sept.  2ist,  1853. 

My  dear  Lord, 

Your  note  having  been  forwarded  to  me  here,  I can- 
not forbear  thanking  you  with  all  my  heart  for  your  great 
kindness.  Mr.  Forster  had  previously  sent  me  a copy  of 
your  letter  to  him,  together  with  the  expression  of  the  high 
and  lasting  gratification  he  had  in  your  handsome  response. 
I know  he  feels  it  most  sincerely. 

I became  the  prey  of  a perfect  spasm  of  sensitive 
twinges,  when  I found  that  the  close  of  ‘‘  Bleak  House  ” 
had  not  penetrated  to  ‘‘  the  wilds  of  the  North  ” when  your 
letter  left  those  parts.  I was  so  very  much  interested  in 
it  myself  when  I wrote  it  here  last  month,  that  I have  a 
fond  sort  of  faith  in  its  interesting  its  readers.  But  for 
the  hope  that  you  may  have  got  it  by  this  time,  I should 
refuse  comfort.  That  supports  me. 

The  book  has  been  a wonderful  success.  Its  audience 
enormous. 

I fear  there  is  not  much  chance  of  my  being  able  to 
execute  any  little  commission  for  Lady  John  anywhere  in 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


371 


Italy.  But  I am  going  across  the  Alps,  leaving  here  on 
the  tenth  of  next  month,  and  returning  home  to  London 
for  Christmas  Day,  and  should  indeed  be  happy  if  I could 
do  her  any  dwarf  service. 

You  will  be  interested,  I think,  to  hear  that  Poole  lives 
happily  on  his  pension,  and  lives  within  it.  He  is  quite 
incapable  of  any  mental  exertion,  and  what  he  would  have 
done  without  it  I bannot  imagine.  I send  it  to  him  at 
Paris  every  quarter.  It  is  something,  even  amid  the  esti- 
mation in  which  you  are  held,  which  is  but  a foreshadow- 
ing of  what  shall  be  by-and-by  as  the  people  advance,  to 
be  so  gratefully  remembered  as  he,  with  the  best  reason, 
remembers  you.  Forgive  my  saying  this.  But  the  man- 
ner of  that  transaction,  no  less  than  the  matter,  is  always 
fresh  in  my  memory  in  association  with  your  name,  and  I 
cannot  help  it. 

My  dear  Lord, 

Yours  very  faithfully  and  obliged. 

{.To  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson^ 

Boulogne,  Wednesday,  Sept.  21s f,  1853. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

The  courier  was  unfortunately  engaged.  He  offered  to 
recommend  another,  but  I had  several  applicants,  and 
begged  Mr.  Wills  to  hold  a grand  review  at  the  “ House- 
hold Words”  office,  and  select  the  man  who  is  to  bring 
me  down  as  his  victim.  I am  extremely  sorry  the  man 
you  recommend  was  not  to  be  had.  I should  have  been 
so  delighted  to  take  him. 


372 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


I am  finishing  The  Child's  History,"  and  clearing  the 
way  through  Household  Words,"  in  general,  before  I go 
on  my  trip.  I forget  whether  I told  you  that  Mr.  Egg  the 
painter  and  Mr.  Collins  are  going  with  me.  The  other 
day  I was  in  town.  In  case  you  should  not  have  heard 
of  the  condition  of  that  deserted  village,  I think  it  worth 
mentioning.  All  the  streets  of  any  note  were  unpaved, 
mountains  high,  and  all  the  omnibuses  were  sliding  down 
alleys,  and  looking  into  the  upper  windows  of  small  houses. 
At  eleven  o’clock  one  morning  I was  positively  alone  in 
Bond  Street.  I went  to  one  of  my  tailors,  and  he  was  at 
Brighton.  A smutty-faced  woman  among  some  gorgeous 
regimentals,  half  finished,  had  not  the  least  idea  when  he 
would  be  back.  I went  to  another  of  my  tailors,  and  he 
was  in  an  upper  room,  with  open  windows  and  surrounded 
by  mignonette  boxes,  playing  the  piano  in  the  bosom  of 
his  family.  I went  to  my  hosier’s,  and  two  of  the  least 
presentable  of  the  young  men  " of  that  elegant  establish- 
ment were  playing  at  draughts  in  the  back  shop.  (Like- 
wise I beheld  a porter-pot  hastily  concealed  under  a Turk- 
ish dressing-gown  of  a golden  pattern.)  I then  went 
wandering  about  to  look  for  some  ingenious  portmanteau, 
and  near  the  corner  of  St.  James’s  Street  saw  a solitary 
being  sitting  in  a trunk-shop,  absorbed  in  a book  which, 
on  a close  inspection,  I found  to  be  Bleak  House."  I 
thought  this  looked  well,  and  went  in.  And  he  really  was 
more  interested  in  seeing  me,  when  he  knew  who  I was, 
than  any  face  I had  seen  in  any  house,  every  house  I knew 
being  occupied  by  painters,  including  my  own.  I went  to 


LETTERS.  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


373 


the  Athenaeum  that  same  night,  to  get  my  dinner,  and  it 
was  shut  up  for  repairs.  I went  home  late,  and  had  for- 
gotten the  key  and  was  locked  out. 

Preparations  were  made  here,  about  six  weeks  ago,  to 
receive  the  Emperor,  who  is  not  come  yet.  Meanwhile 
our  countrymen  (deluded  in  the  first  excitement)  go  about 
staring  at  these  arrangements,  with  a personal  injury  upon 
them  which  is  most  ridiculous.  And  they  will  persist  in 
speaking  an  unknown  tongue  to  the  French  people,  who 
will  speak  English  to  them. 

Kate  and  Georgina  send  their  kindest  loves.  We  are 
all  quite  well.  Going  to  drop  two  small  boys  here,  at  school 
with  a former  Eton  tutor  highly  recommended  to  me. 
Charley  was  heard  of  a day  or  two  ago.  He  says  his 
professor  is  very  short-sighted,  always  in  green  spec- 
tacles, always  drinking  weak  beer,  always  smoking  a pipe, 
and  always  at  work.”  The  last  qualification  seems  to  ap- 
pear to  Charley  the  most  astonishing  one. 

Ever,  my  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Most  affectionately  yours. 


[7b  Miss  Hogarihi\ 

Hotel  DE  LA  Villa,  Milan,  Tuesday y Oct.  2Sthy  1853. 
My  dear  Georgy, 

I have  walked  to  that  extent  in  Switzerland  (walked 
over  the  Simplon  on  Sunday,  as  an  addition  to  the  other 
feats)  that  one  pair  of  the  new  strong  shoes  has  gone  to 


374 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


be  mended  this  morning,  and  the  other  is  in  but  a poor 
way  ; the  snow  having  played  the  mischief  with  them. 

On  the  Swiss  side  of  the  Simplon,  we  slept  at  the 
beastliest  little  town,  in  the  wildest  kind  of  house,  where 
some  fifty  cats  tumbled  into  the  corridor  outside  our  bed- 
rooms all  at  once  in  the  middle  of  the  night — whether 
through  the  roof  or  not,  I don't  know  ; for  it  was  dark 
when  we  got  up — and  made  such  a horrible  and  terrific 
noise  that  we  started  out  of  our  beds  in  a panic.  I strongly 
objected  to  opening  the  door  lest  they  should  get  into  the 
room  and  tear  at  us  ; but  Edward  opened  his,  and  laid 
about  him  until  he  dispersed  them.  At  Domo  D'Ossola 
we  had  three  immense  bedrooms  (Egg’s  bed  twelve  feet 
wide  !),  and  a sala  of  imperceptible  extent  in  the  dim 
light  of  two  candles  and  a wood  fire  ; but  were  very  well 
and  very  cheaply  entertained.  Here,  we  are,  as  you  know, 
housed  in  the  greatest  comfort. 

We  continue  to  get  on  very  well  together.  We  really  do 
admirably.  I lose  no  opportunity  of  inculcating  the  lesson 
that  it  is  of  no  use  to  be  out  of  temper  in  travelling,  and  it 
is  very  seldom  wanted  for  any  of  us.  Egg  is  an  excellent 
fellow,  and  full  of  good  qualities  ; I am  sure  a generous 
and  staunch  man  at  heart,  and  a good  and  honourable 
nature. 

I shall  send  Catherine  from  Genoa  a list  of  the  places 
where  letters  will  find  me.  I shall  hope  to  hear  from  you 
too,  and  shall  be  very  glad  indeed  to  do  so.  No  more  at 
present. 


Ever  most  affectionately. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


375 


\^To  Miss  Hogarth^ 

Croce  di  Malita,  Genoa,  Saturday^  Oct.  29M,  1853. 
My  dearest  Georgy, 

We  had  thirty-one  hours  consecutively  on  the  road  be- 
tween this  and  Milan,  and  arrived  here  in  a rather  dam- 
aged condition.  We  live  at  the  top  of  this  immense 
house,  overlooking  the  port  and  sea,  pleasantly  and  airily 
enough,  though  it  is  no  joke  to  get  so  high,  and  though 
the  apartment  is  rather  vast  and  faded. 

The  old  walks  are  pretty  much  the  same  as  ever,  except 
that  they  have  built  behind  the  Peschiere  on  the  San  Bar- 
tolomeo hill,  and  changed  the  whole  town  towards  San 
Pietro  d’Arena,  where  we  seldom  went.  The  Bisagno 
looks  just  the  same,  strong  just  now,  and  with  very  little 
water  in  it.  Vicoli  stink  exactly  as  they  used  to,  and  are 
fragrant  with  the  same  old  flavour  of  very  rotten  cheese 
kept  in  very  hot  blankets.  The  Mezzaro  pervades  them 
as  before.  The  old  Jesuit  college  in  the  Strada  Nuova  is 
under  the  present  government  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and  a 
very  splendid  caffe  with  a terrace  garden  has  arisen  be- 
tween it  and  Palavicini's  old  palace.  Another  new  and 
handsome  caffe  has  been  built  in  the  Piazza  Carlo  Felice, 
between  the  old  caffe  of  the  Bei  Arti  (where  Fletcher 
stopped  for  the  bouquets  in  the  green  times,  when  we  went 

to  the 's  party),  and  the  Strada  Carlo  Felice.  The 

old  beastly  gate  and  guard-house  on  the  Albaro  road  are 
still  in  their  dear  old  beastly  state,  and  the  whole  of  that 
road  is  just  as  it  was.  The  man  without  legs  is  still  in  the 


376  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 

Strada  Nuova  ; but  the  beggars  in  general  are  all  cleared 
olf,  and  our  old  one-armed  Belisario  made  a sudden  evap- 
oration a year  or  two  ago.  I am  going  to  the  Peschiere 
to-day.  The  puppets  are  here,  and  the  opera  is  open,  but 
only  with  a buffo  company,  and  without  a buffet.  We 
went  to  the  Scala,  where  they  did  an  opera  of  Verdi’s, 
called  ^‘11  Trovatore,”  and  a poor  enough  ballet.  The 
whole  performance  miserable  indeed.  I wish  you  were 
here  to  take  some  of  the  old  walks.  It  is  quite  strange  to 
walk  about  alone.  Good-bye,  my  dear  Georgy.  Pray  tell 
me  how  Kate  is.  I rather  fancy  from  her  letter,  though  I 
scarcely  know  why,  that  she  is  not  quite  as  well  as  she  was 
at  Boulogne.  I was  charmed  with  your  account  of  the 
Plornishghenter  and  everything  and  everybody  else.  Kiss 
them  all  for  me. 

Ever  most  affectionately  yours. 

\_To  Miss  Hogarth i\ 

Hotel  des  Etr angers,  Naples, 

Friday  Nighty  Nov,  1853. 

My  dearest  Georgy, 

Instead  of  embarking  on  Monday  at  Genoa,  we  were  de- 
layed (in  consequence  of  the  boat’s  being  a day  later  when 
there  are  thirty-one  days  in  the  month)  until  Tuesday. 
Going  aboard  that  morning  at  half-past  nine,  we  found  the 
steamer  more  than  full  of  passengers  from  Marseilles,  and 
in  a state  of  confusion  not  to  be  described.  We  could  get 
no  places  at  the  table,  got  our  dinners  how  we  could  on 
deck,  had  no  berths  or  sleeping  accommodation  of  any 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


377 


kind,  and  had  paid  heavy  first-class  fares  ! To  add  to 
this,  we  got  to  Leghorn  too  late  to  steam  away  again  that 
night,  getting  the  ship’s  papers  examined  first — as  the  au- 
thorities said  so,  not  being  favourable  to  the  new  express 
English  ship,  English  officered — and  we  lay  off  the  light- 
house all  night  long.  The  scene  on  board  beggars  descrip- 
tion. Ladies  on  the  tables,  gentlemen  under  the  tables, 
and  ladies  and  gentlemen  lying  indiscriminately  on  the 
open  deck,  arrayed  like  spoons  on  a sideboard.  No  mat- 
tresses, no  blankets,  nothing.  Towards  midnight,  attempts 
were  made  by  means  of  an  awning  and  flags  to  make  this 
latter  scene  remotely  approach  an  Australian  encampment ; 
and  we  three  lay  together  on  the  bare  planks  covered  with 
overcoats.  We  were  all  gradually  dozing  off  when  a per- 
fectly tropical  rain  fell,  and  in  a moment  drowned  the 
whole  ship.  The  rest  of  the  night  was  passed  upon  the 
stairs,  with  an  immense  jumble  of  men  and  women.  When 
anybody  came  up  for  any  purpose  we  all  fell  down  ; and 
when  anybody  came  down  we  all  fell  up  again.  Still,  the 
good-humour  in  the  English  part  of  the  passengers  was 
quite  extraordinary.  There  were  excellent  officers  aboard, 
and  the  first  mate  lent  me  his  cabin  to  wash  in  in  the 
morning,  which  I afterwards  lent  to  Egg  and  Collins. 
Then  we  and  the  Emerson  Tennents  (who  were  aboard) 
and  the  captain,  the  doctor,  and  the  second  officer  went 
off  on  a jaunt  together  to  Pisa,  as  the  ship  was  to  lie  at 
Leghorn  all  day. 

The  captain  was  a capital  fellow,  but  I led  him,  face- 
tiously, such  a life  all  day,  that  I got  almost  everything 


3/8  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


altered  at  night.  Emerson  Tennent,  with  the  greatest 
kindness,  turned  his  son  out  of  his  state  room  (who,  indeed, 
volunteered  to  go  in  the  most  amiable  manner),  and  I got 
a good  bed  there.  The  store-room  down  by  the  hold  was 
opened  for  Egg  and  Collins,  and  they  slept  with  the  moist 
sugar,  the  cheese  in  cut,  the  spices,  the  cruets,  the  apples 
and  pears — in  a perfect  chandler’s  shop  ; in  company  with 

what  the ’s  would  call  a ‘^hold  gent  — who  had  been 

so  horribly  wet  through  overnight  that  his  condition  fright- 
ened the  authorities — a cat,  and  the  steward — who  dozed 
in  an  arm-chair,  and  all  night  long  fell  headforemost,  once 
in  every  five  minutes,  on  Egg,  who  slept  on  the  counter  or 
dresser.  Last  night  I had  the  steward’s  own  cabin,  open- 
ing on  deck,  all  to  myself.  It  had  been  previously  occu- 
pied by  some  desolate  lady,  who  went  ashore  at  Civita 
Vecchia.  There  was  little  or  no  sea,  thank  Heaven,  all 
the  trip  ; but  the  rain  was  heavier  than  any  I have  ever 
seen,  and  the  lightning  very  constant  and  vivid.  We  were, 
with  the  crew,  some  two  hundred  people  ; with  boats,  at 
the  utmost  stretch,  for  one  hundred,  perhaps.  I could 
not  help  thinking  what  would  happen  if  we  met  with  any 
accident ; the  crew  being  chiefly  Maltese,  and  evidently 
fellows  who  would  cut  off  alone  in  the  largest  boat  on  the 
least  alarm.  The  speed  (it  being  the  crack  express  ship 
for  the  India  mail)  very  high  ; also  the  running  through 
all  the  narrow  rocky  channels.  Thank  God,  however, 
here  we  are.  Though  the  more  sensible  and  experienced 
part  of  the  passengers  agreed  with  me  this  morning  that  it 
was  not  a thing  to  try  often.  We  had  an  excellent  table 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


379 


after  the  first  day,  the  best  wines  and  so  forth,  and  the 
captain  and  I swore  eternal  friendship.  Ditto  the  first  of- 
ficer and  the  majority  of  the  passengers.  We  got  into  the 
bay  about  seven  this  morning,  but  could  not  land  until 
noon.  We  towed  from  Civita  Vecchia  the  entire  Greek 
navy,  I believe,  consisting  of  a little  brig-of-war,  with 
great  guns,  fitted  as  a steamer,  but  disabled  by  having 
burst  the  bottom  of  her  boiler  in  her  first  run.  She  was 
just  big  enough  to  carry  the  captain  and  a crew  of  six  or 
so,  but  the  captain  was  so  covered  with  buttons  and  gold 
that  there  never  would  have  been  room  for  him  on  board 
to  put  these  valuables  away  if  he  hadn’t  worn  them,  which 
he  consequently  did,  all  night. 

Whenever  anything  was  wanted  to  be  done,  as  slacken- 
ing the  tow-rope  or  anything  of  that  sort,  our  officers  roared 
at  this  miserable  potentate,  in  violent  English,  through  a 
speaking-trumpet,  of  which  he  couldn’t  have  understood  a 
word  under  the  most  favourable  circumstances,  so  he  did 
all  the  wrong  things  first,  and  the  right  things  always  last. 
The  absence  of  any  knowledge  of  anything  not  English  on 
the  part  of  the  officers  and  stewards  was  most  ridiculous. 
I met  an  Italian  gentleman  on  the  cabin  steps,  yesterday 
morning,  vainly  endeavouring  to  explain  that  he  wanted  a 
cup  of  tea  for  his  sick  wife.  And  when  we  were  coming 
out  of  the  harbour  at  Genoa,  and  it  was  necessary  to  order 
away  that  boat  of  music  you  remember,  the  chief  officer 
(called  aft  for  the  purpose,  as  ‘^knowing  something  of 
Italian,”)  delivered  himself  in  this  explicit  and  clear  man- 
ner to  the  principal  performer : Now,  signora,  if  you 


380  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


don’t  sheer  off,  you’ll  be  run  down  ; so  you  had  better 
trice  up  that  guitar  of  yours,  and  put  about.” 

We  get  on  as  well  as  possible,  and  it  is  extremely  pleas- 
ant and  interesting,  and  I feel  that  the  change  is  doing  me 
great  and  real  service,  after  a long  continuous  strain  upon 
the  mind  ; but  I am  pleased  to  think  that  we  are  at  our 
farthest  point,  and  I look  forward  with  joy  to  coming 
home  again,  to  my  old  room,  and  the  old  walks,  and  all 
the  old  pleasant  things. 

I wish  I had  arranged,  or  could  have  done  so — for  it 
would  not  have  been  easy — to  find  some  letters  here.  It 
is  a blank  to  stay  for  five  days  in  a place  without  any. 

I don’t  think  Edward  knows  fifty  Italian  words  ; but 
much  more  French  is  spoken  in  Italy  now  than  when  we 
were  here,  and  he  stumbles  along  somehow. 

I am  afraid  this  is  a dull  letter,  for  I am  very  tired.  You 
must  take  the  will  for  the  deed,  my  dear,  and  good  night. 

Ever  most  affectionately. 

iTo  Miss  Hogarth.\ 

Rome,  Sunday  Night,  Nov.  I2itk,  1853. 
My  dearest  Georgy, 

We  arrived  here  yesterday  afternoon,  at  between  three 
and  four.  On  sending  to  the  post-office  this  morning,  I 
received  your  pleasant  little  letter,  and  one  from  Miss 
Coutts,  who  is  still  at  Paris.  But  to  my  amazement  there 
was  none  from  Catherine  ! You  mention  her  writing,  and 
I cannot  but  suppose  that  your  two  letters  must  have  been 
posted  together.  However,  I received  none  from  her,  and 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 

I have  all  manner  of  doubts  respecting  the  plainness  of  its 
direction.  They  will  not  produce  the  letters  here  as  at 
Genoa,  but  persist  in  looking  them  out  at  the  post-office 
for  you.  I shall  send  again  to-morrow,  and  every  day  until 
Friday,  when  we  leave  here.  If  I find  no  letter  from  her 
to-morrow^  I shall  write  to  her  nevertheless  by  that  post 
which  brings  this,  so  that  you  may  both  hear  from  me  to- 
gether. 

One  night,  at  Naples,  Edward  came  in,  open-mouthed, 
to  the  table  d’hote  where  we  were  dining  with  the  Ten- 
nents,  to  announce  The  Marchese  Garofalo.”  I at  first 
thought  it  must  be  the  little  parrot-marquess  who  was  once 
your  escort  from  Genoa  ; but  I found  him  to  be  a man 
(married  to  an  Englishwoman)  whom  we  used  to  meet  at 
Ridgway’s.  He  was  very  glad  to  see  me,  and  I afterwards 
met  him  at  dinner  at  Mr.  Lowther’s,  our  charge  d’affaires. 
Mr.  Lowther  was  at  the  Rockingham  play,  and  is  a very 
agreeable  fellow.  We  had  an  exceedingly  pleasant  dinner 
of  eight,  preparatory  to  which  I was  near  having  the  ridic- 
ulous adventure  of  not  being  able  to  find  the  house  and 
coming  back  dinnerless.  I went  in  an  open  carriage  from 
the  hotel  in  all  state,  and  the  coachman,  to  my  surprise, 
pulled  up  at  the  end  of  the  Chiaja.  Behold  the  house,” 
says  he,  ‘‘  of  II  Signor  Larthoor  ! ” — at  the  same  time 
pointing  with  his  whip  into  the  seventh  heaven,  where  the 
early  stars  were  shining.  “ But  the  Signor  Larthoor,”  re- 
turns the  Inimitable  darling,  ‘Mives  at  Pausilippo.’'  ‘‘It 
is  true,”  says  the  coachman  (still  pointing  to  the  evening 
star),  “but  he  lives  high  up  the  Salita  Sant’  Antonio, 


382  LETTERS  OF  CL/ARLES  DICKENS. 


where  no  carriage  ever  yet  ascended,  and  that  is  the  house  ” 
(evening  star  as  aforesaid),  and  one  must  go  on  foot. 
Behold  the  Salita  Sant'  Antonio  ! " I went  up  it,  a mile 
and  a half  I should  think.  I got  into  the  strangest  places, 
among  the  wildest  Neapolitans — Kitchens,  washing-places, 
archways,  stables,  vineyards — was  baited  by  dogs,  answered 
in  profoundly  unintelligible  Neapolitan,  from  behind  lonely 
locked  doors,  in  cracked  female  voices,  quaking  with  fear  ; 
could  hear  of  no  such  Englishman  or  any  Englishman.  By- 
and-by  I came  upon  a Polenta-shop  in  the  clouds,  where 
an  old  Frenchman,  with  an  umbrella  like  a faded  tropical 
leaf  (it  had  not  rained  for  six  weeks)  was  staring  at  nothing 
at  all,  with  a snuff-box  in  his  hand.  To  him  I appealed 
concerning  the  Signor  Larthoor.  Sir,”  said  he,  with  the 
sweetest  politeness,  “can  you  speak  French?”  “Sir,” 
said  I,  “ a little.”  “ Sir,”  said  he,  “ I presume  the  Signor 
Loothere  ” — you  will  observe  that  he  changed  the  name 
according  to  the  custom  of  his  country — “ is  an  English- 
man.” I admitted  that  he  was  the  victim  of  circumstances 
and  had  that  misfortune.  “Sir,”  said  he,  “ one  word  more. 
Has  he  a servant  with  a wooden  leg  ? ” “ Great  Heaven, 

sir,”  said  I,  “ how  do  I know  ! I should  think  not,  but  it 
is  possible.”  “It  is  always,”  said  the  Frenchman,  “pos- 
sible. Almost  all  the  things  of  the  world  are  always  pos- 
sible.” “ Sir,”  said  I — you  may  imagine  my  condition  and 
dismal  sense  of  my  own  absurdity,  by  this  time — “ that  is 
true.”  He  then  took  an  immense  pinch  of  snuff,  wiped 
the  dust  off  his  umbrella,  led  me  to  an  arch  commanding 
a wonderful  view  of  the  bay  of  Naples,  and  pointed  deep 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  383 


into  the  earth  from  which  I had  mounted.  Below  there, 
near  the  lamp,  one  finds  an  Englishman,  with  a servant 
with  a wooden  leg.  It  is  always  possible  that  he  is  the 
Signor  Loothere.”  I had  been  asked  at  six,  and  it  was 
now  getting  on  for  seven.  I went  down  again  in  a state  of 
perspiration  and  misery  not  to  be  described,  and  without 
the  faintest  hope  of  finding  the  place.  But  as  I was  going 
down  to  the  lamp,  I saw  the  strangest  staircase  up  a dark 
corner,  with  a man  in  a white-waistcoat  (evidently  hired) 
standing  on  the  top  of  it,  fuming.  I dashed  in  at  a ven- 
ture, found  it  was  the  place,  made  the  most  of  the  whole 
story,  and  was  indescribably  popular.  The  best  of  it  was, 
that  as  nobody  ever  did  find  the  place,  he  had  put  a ser- 
vant at  the  bottom  of  the  Salita,  to  wait  for  an  English 
gentleman.'’  The  servant  (as  he  presently  pleaded),  de- 
ceived by  the  moustache,  had  allowed  the  English  gentle- 
man to  pass  unchallenged. 

The  night  before  we  left  Naples  we  were  at  the  San 
Carlo,  where,  with  the  Verdi  rage  of  our  old  Genoa  time, 
they  were  again  doing  the  “ Trovatore.”  It  seemed  rub- 
bish on  the  whole  to  me,  but  was  very  fairly  done.  I think 
“ La  Tenco,"  the  prima  donna,  will  soon  be  a great  hit 
in  London.  She  is  a very  remarkable  singer  and  a fine 
actress,  to  the  best  of  my  judgment  on  such  premises. 
There  seems  to  be  no  opera  here,  at  present.  There  was 
a Festa  in  St.  Peter's  to-day,  and  the  Pope  passed  to  the 
Cathedral  in  state.  We  were  all  there. 

We  leave  here,  please  God,  on  Friday  morning,  and 
post  to  Florence  in  three  days  and  a half.  We  came  here 


384  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


by  Vetturino.  Upon  the  whole,  the  roadside  inns  are 
greatly  improved  since  our  time.  Half-past  three  and 
half-past  four  have  been,  however,  our  usual  times  of  ris- 
ing on  the  road. 

I was  in  my  old  place  at  the  Coliseum  this  morning, 
and  it  was  as  grand  as  ever.  With  that  exception  the 
ruined  part  of  Rome — the  real  original  Rome — looks 
smaller  than  my  remembrance  made  it.  It  is  the  only 
place  on  which  I have  yet  found  that  effect.  We  are  in 
the  old  hotel. 

You  are  going  to  Bonchurch  I suppose?  will  be  there, 
perhaps,  when  this  letter  reaches  you  ? I shall  be  pleased 
to  think  of  you  as  at  home  again,  and  making  the  com- 
modious family  mansion  look  natural  and  home-like.  I 
don't  like  to  think  of  my  room  without  anybody  to  peep 
into  it  now  and  then.  Here  is  a world  of  travelling  ar- 
rangements for  me  to  settle,  and  here  are  Collins  and  Egg 
looking  sideways  at  me  with  an  occasional  imploring  glance 
as  beseeching  me  to  settle  it.  So  I leave  off.  Good-night. 

Ever,  my  dearest  Georgy, 

Most  affectionately  yours*. 

iTo  Sir  James  Emerson  Tennenti\ 

Hotel  des  Iles  Britanniques,  Piazza  del  Popolo,  Rome, 

Monday^  Nov,  14M,  1853. 

My  dear  Tennent, 

As  I never  made  a good  bargain  in  my  life — except  once, 

when,  on  going  abroad,  I let  my  house  on  excellent  terms 

•# 

to  an  admirable  tenant,  who  never  paid  anything — I sent 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


385 


Edward  into  the  Casa  Dies  yesterday  morning,  while  I in- 
vested the  premises  from  the  outside,  and  carefully  sur- 
veyed them.  It  is  a very  clean,  large,  bright-looking  house 
at  the  corner  of  the  Via  Gregoriana  ; not  exactly  in  a part 
of  Rome  I should  pick  out  for  living  in,  and  on  what  I 
should  be  disposed  to  call  the  wrong  side  of  the  street. 
However,  this  is  not  to  the  purpose.  Signor  Dies  has  no 
'idea  of  letting  an  apartment  for  a short  time — scouted  the 
idea  of  a month — signified  that  he  could  not  be  brought 
to  the  contemplation  of  two  months — was  by  no  means 
clear  that  he  could  come  down  to  the  consideration  of 
three.  This  of  course  settled  the  business  speedily. 

This  hotel  is  no  longer  kept  by  the  Melloni  I spoke  of, 
but  is -even  better  kept  than  in  his  time,  and  is  a very  ad- 
mirable house.  I have  engaged  a small  apartment  for  you 
ito  be  ready  on  Thursday  afternoon  (at  two  piastres  and  a 
half — two-and-a-half  per  day — sitting-room  and  three  bed- 
rooms, one  double-bedded  and  two  not).  If  you  would 
like  to  change  to  ours,  which  is  a very  good  one,  on  Fri- 
day morning,  you  can  of  course  do  so.  As  our  dining- 
room is  large,  and  there  is  no  table  d’hote  here,  I will  order 
dinner  in  it  for  our  united  parties  at  six  on  Thursday.  You 
will  be  able  to  decide  how  to  arrange  for  the  remainder  of 
your  stay,  after  being  here  and  looking  about  you — two 
really  necessary  considerations  in  Rome. 

Pray  make  my  kind  regards  to  Lady  Tennent,  and  Miss 
Tennent,  and  your  good  son,  who  became  homeless  for 
my  sake.  Mr.  Egg  and  Mr.  Collins  desire  to  be  also  re- 
membered. 

VoL.  I. — 17 


386  LETTERS  OF  CE ARLES  DLCKENS. 


It  has  been  beautiful  weather  since  we  left  Naples, 
until  to-day,  when  it  rains  in  a very  dogged,  sullen,  down- 
cast, and  determined  manner.  We  have  been  speculating 
at  breakfast  on  the  possibility  of  its  raining  in  a similar 
manner  at  Naples,  and  of  your  wandering  about  the  hotel, 
refusing  consolation. 

I grieve  to  report  the  Orvieto  considerably  damaged 
by  the  general  vine  failure,  but  still  far  from  despicable: 
Montefiascone  (the  Est  wine  you  know)  is  to  be  had  here  ; 
and  we  have  had  one  bottle  in  the  very  finest  condition, 
and  one  in  a second-rate  state. 

The  Coliseum,  in  its  magnificent  old  decay,  is  as  grand 
as  ever  ; and  with  the  electric  telegraph  darting  through 
one  of  its  ruined  arches  like  a sunbeam  and  piercing  di- 
rect through  its  cruel  old  heart,  is  even  grander. 

Believe  me  always,  very  faithfully  yours. 

\_To  Mrs.  Charles  Dickens 

Rome,  Monday^  Nov.  1853. 

My  dearest  Catherine, 

As  I have  mentioned  in  my  letter  to  Georgy  (written 
last  night  but  posted  with  this),  I received  her  letter  with- 
out yours,  to  my  unbounded  astonishment.  This  morning, 
on  sending  again  to  the  post-office,  I at  last  got  yours,  and 
most  welcome  it  is  with  all  its  contents. 

I found  Layard  at  Naples,  who  went  up  Vesuvius  with 
us,  and  was  very  merry  and  agreeable.  He  is  travelling 
with  Lord  and  Lady  Somers,  and  Lord  Somers  being  laid 
up  with  an  attack  of  malaria  fever,  Layard  had  a day  to 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  1^7 


spare.  Craven,  who  was  Lord  Normanby’s  Secretary  of 
Legation  in  Paris,  now  lives  at  Naples,  and  is  married  to 
a French  lady.  He  is  very  hospitable  and  hearty,  and 
seemed  to  have  vague  ideas  that  something  might  be  done 
in  a pretty  little  private  theatre  he  has  in  his  house.  He 
told  me  of  Fanny  Kemble  and  the  Sartoris’s  being  here.  I 
have  also  heard  of  Thackeray’s  being  here — I don’t  know 
how  truly.  Lockhart  is  here,  and,  I fear,  very  ill.  I mean 
to  go  and  see  him. 

We  are  living  in  the  old  hotel,  which  is  not  now  kept 
by  Meloni,  who  has  retired.  I don’t  know  whether  you 
recollect  an  apartment  at  the  top  of  the  house,  to  which 
we  once  ran  up  with  poor  Roche  to  see  the  horses  start  in 
the  race  at  the  Carnival  time  ? That  is  ours,  in  which  I 
at  present  write.  We  have  a large  back  dining-room,  a 
handsome  front  drawing-room,  looking  into  the  Piazza  del 
Popolo,  and  three  front  bed-rooms,  all  on  a floor.  The 
whole  costs  us  about  four  shillings  a day  each.  The  hotel 
is  better  kept  than  ever.  There  is  a little  kitchen  to  each 
apartment  where  the  dinner  is  kept  hot.  There  is  no 
house  comparable  to  it  in  Paris,  and  it  is  better  than 
Mivart’s.  We  start  for  Florence,  post,  on  Friday  morn- 
ing, and  I am  bargaining  for  a carriage  to  take  us  on  to 
Venice. 

Edward  is  an  excellent  servant,  and  always  cheerful 
and  ready  for  his  work.  He  knows  no  Italian,  except  the 
names  of  a few  things,  but  French  is  far  more  widely 
known  here  now  than  in  our  time.  Neither  is  he  an  ex- 
perienced courier  as  to  roads  and  so  forth ; but  he  picks 


388 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


up  all  that  I want  to  know,  here  and  there,  somehow  or 
other.  I am  perfectly  pleased  with  him,  and  would  rather 
have  him  than  an  older  hand.  Poor  dear  Roche  comes 
back  to  rny  mind  though,  often. 

I have  written  to  engage  the  courier  from  Turin  into 
France,  from  Tuesday^  the  6th  December,  This  will  bring 
us  home  some  two  days  after  the  tenth,  probably.  I wrote 
to  Charley  from  Naples,  giving  him  his  choice  of  meeting 
me  at  Lyons,  in  Paris,  or  at  Boulogne.  I gave  him  full  in- 
structions what  to  do  if  he  arrived  before  me,  and  he  will 
write  to  me  at  Turin  saying  where  I shall  find  him.  I shall 
be  a day  or  so  later  than  I supposed  as  the  nearest  calcu- 
lation I could  make  when  I wrote  to  him  ; but  his  waiting 
for  me  at  an  hotel  will  not  matter. 

We  have  had  delightful  weather,  with  one  day's  excep- 
tion, until  to-day,  when  it  rained  very  heavily  and  sudden- 
ly. Egg  and  Collins  have  gone  to  the  Vatican,  and  I am 
going  " to  try  whether  I can  hit  out  anything  for  the 
Christmas  number.  Give  my  love  to  Forster,  and  tell  him 
I won’t  write  to  him  until  I hear  from  him. 

I have  not  come  across  any  English  whom  I know  ex- 
cept Layard  and  the  Emerson  Teynents,  who  will  be 
here  on  Thursday  from  Civita  Vecchia,  and  are  to  dine 
with  us.  The  losses  up  to  this  point  have  been  two  pairs 
of  shoes  (one  mine  and  one  Egg’s),  Collins’s  snuff-box, 
and  Egg’s  dressing-gown. 

We  observe  the  managerial  punctuality  in  all  our  ar- 
rangements, and  have  not  had  any  difference  whatever. 

I have  been  reserving  this  side  all  through  my  letter,  in 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS,  389 


the  conviction  that  I had  something  else  to  tell  you.  If  I 
had,  I cannot  remember  what  it  is.  I introduced  myself 
to  Salvatore  at  Vesuvius,  and  reminded  him  of  the  night 
when  poor  Le  Gros  fell  down  the  mountains.  He  was  full 
of  interest  directly,  remembered  the  very  hole,  put  on  his 
gold-banded  cap,  and  went  up  with  us  himself.  He  did 
not  know  that  Le  Gros  was  dead,  and  was  very  sorry  to 
hear  it.  He  asked  after  the  ladies,  and  hoped  they  were 
very  happy,  to  which  I answered,  ‘‘Very.’’  The  cone  is 
completely  changed  since  our  visit,  is  not  at  all  recognisa- 
ble as  the  same  place  ; and  there  is  no  fire  from  the  moun- 
tain, though  there  is  a great  deal  of  smoke.  Its  last  demon- 
stration was  in  1850. 

I shall  be  glad  to  think  of  your  all  being  at  home  again, 
as  I suppose  you  will  be  soon  after  the  receipt  of  this. 
Will  you  see  to  the  invitations  for  Christmas  Day,  and  write 
to  Laetitia  ? I shall  be  very  happy  to  be  at  home  again 
myself,  and  to  embrace  you  ; for  of  course  I miss  you  very 
much^  though  I feel  that  I could  not  have  done  a better 
thing  to  clear  my  mind  and  freshen  it  up  again,  than  make 
this  expedition.  If  I find  Charley  much  ahead  of  me,  I 
shall  start  on  through  a night  or  so  to  meet  him,  and  leave 
the  others  to  catch  us  up.  I look  upon  the  journey  as  almost 
closed  as  Turin.  My  best  love  to  Mamey,  and  Katey,  and 
Sydney,  and  Harry,  and  the  dJfling  Plornishghenter.  We 
often  talk  about  them,  and  both  my  companions  do  so  with 
interest.  They  always  send  all  sorts  of  messages  to  you, 
which  I never  deliver.  God  bless  you  ! Take  care  of 
yourself.  Ever  most  affectionately. 


390 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


YToMr.  W.H.  Wills?i, 

Rome,  Thursday  A jiernoony  Nov.  17/^,  1853. 
My  dear  Wills, 

Just  as  I wrote  the  last  words  of  the  enclosed  little 
story  for  the  Christmas  number  just  now,  Edward  brought 
in  your  letter.  Also  one  from  Forster  (tell  him)  which  I 
have  not  yet  opened.  1 will  write  again — and  write  to  him 
— from  Florence.  I am  delighted  to  have  news  of  you. 

The  enclosed  little  paper  for  the  Christmas  number  is 
in  a character  that  nobody  else  is  likely  to  hit,  and  which 
is  pretty  sure  to  be  considered  pleasant.  Let  Forster  have 
the  MS.  with  the  proof,  and  I know  he  will  correct  it  to  the 
minutest  point.  I have  a notion  of  another  little  story, 
also  for  the  Christmas  number.  If  I can  do  it  at  Venice, 
1 will,  and  send  it  straight  on.  But  it  is  not  easy  to  work 
under  these  circumstances.  In  travelling  we  generally  get 
up  about  three  ; and  in  resting  we  are  perpetually  roaming 
about  in  all  manner  of  places.  Not  to  mention  my  being 
laid  hold  of  by  all  manner  of  people. 

Keep  Household  Words  ” imaginative  ! is  the 
solemn  and  continual  Conductorial  Injunction.  Delighted 
to  hear  of  Mrs.  Gaskell’s  contributions. 

Yes  by  all  manner  of  mtans  to  Lady  Holland.  Will 
you  ask  her  whether  she  has  Sydney  Smith's  letters  to  me, 
which  I placed  (at  Mrs.  Smith's  request)  either  in  Mrs. 
Smith's  own  hands  or  in  Mrs.  Austin's  ? I cannot  remem- 
ber which,  but  I think  the  latter. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


391 


In  making  up  the  Christmas  number,  don’t  consider  my 
paper  or  papers,  with  any  reference  saving  to  where  they 
will  fall  best.  I have  no  liking,  in  the  case,  for  any  par- 
ticular place. 

All  perfectly  well.  Companion  moustaches  (particularly 
Egg’s)  dismal  in  the  extreme.  Kindest  regards  to  Mrs. 
Wills. 

Ever  faithfully. 

iTo  Mr.  W.  H.  Wi/Is,] 

Florence,  Monday,  Nov.  21st,  1853. 

H.  W. 

My  dear  Wills, 

I sent  you  by  post  from  Rome,  on  Wednesday  last,  a 
little  story  for  the  Christmas  number,  called  The  School- 
boy’s Story.”  I have  another  idea  of  a short  one,  to  be 
called  Nobody’s  Story,”  which  I hope  to  be  able  to 
do  at  Venice,  and  to  send  you  straight  home  before 
this  month  is  out.  I trust  you  have  received  the  first 
safely. 

Edward  continues  to  do  extremely  well.  He  is  always, 
early  and  late,  what  you  have  seen  him.  He  is  a very 
steady  fellow,  a little  too  bashful  for  a courier  even  ; set- 
tles prices  of  everything  now,  as  soon  as  we  come  into  an 
hotel  ; and  improves  fast.  His  knowledge  of  Italian  is 
painfully  defective,  and,  in  the  midst  of  a howling  crowd 
at  a post-house  or  railway  station,  this  deficiency  perfectly 


392 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


stuns  him.  I was  obliged  last  night  to  get  out  of  the  car- 
riage, and  pluck  him  from  a crowd  of  porters  who  were 
putting  our  baggage  into  wrong  conveyances — by  cursing 
and  ordering  about  in  all  directions.  I should  think  about 
ten  substantives,  the  names  of  ten  common  objects,  form 
his  whole  Italian  stock.  It  matters  very  little  at  the 
hotels,  where  a great  deal  of  French  is  spoken  now  ; but, 
on  the  road,  if  none  of  his  party  knew  Italian,  it  would  be 
a very  serious  inconvenience  indeed. 

Will  you  write  to  Ryland  if  you  have  not  heard  from 
him,  and  ask  him  what  the  Birmingham  reading-nights  are 
really  to  be  ? For  it  is  ridiculous  enough  that  I positively 
don't  know.  Can't  a Saturday  Night  in  a Truck  District, 
or  a Sunday  Morning  among  the  Ironworkers  (a  fine  sub- 
ject) be  knocked  out  in  the  course  of  the  same  visit  ? 

If  you  should  see  any  managing  man  you  know  in  the 
Oriental  and  Peninsular  Company,  I wish  you  would  very 
gravely  mention  to  him  from  me  that  if  they  are  not  care- 
ful what  they  are  about  with  their  steamship  Valetta,  be- 
tween Marseilles  and  Naples,  they  will  suddenly  find  that 
they  will  receive  a blow  one  fine  day  in  The  Times^  which 
it  will  be  a very  hard  matter  for  them  ever  to  recover. 
When  I sailed  in  her  from  Genoa,  there  had  been  taken 
on  board,  with  no  caution  in  most  cases  from  the  agent^  or 
hint  of  discomfort^  at  least  forty  people  of  both  sexes  for 
whom  there  was  no  room  whatever.  I am  a pretty  old 
traveller  as  you  know,  but  I never  saw  anything  like  the 
manner  in  which  pretty  women  were  compelled  to  lie 
among  the  men  in  the  great  cabin  and  on  the  bare  decks. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


393 


The  good  humour  was  beyond  all  praise,  but  the  natural 
indignation  very  great  ; and  I was  repeatedly  urged  to 
stand  up  for  the  public  in  Household  Words,”  and  to 
write  a plain  description  of  the  facts  to  The  Times.  If  I 
had  done  either,  and  merely  mentioned  that  all  these 
people  paid  heavy  first-class  fares,  I will  answer  for  it  that 
they  would  have  been  beaten  off  the  station  in  a couple 
of  months.  I did  neither,  because  I was  the  best  of 
friends  with  the  captain  and  all  the  officers,  and  never 
saw  such  a fine  set  of  men  ; so  admirable  in  the  discharge 
of  their  duty,  and  so  zealous  to  do  their  best  by  everybody. 
It  is  impossible  to  praise  them  too  highly.  But  there  is  a 
strong  desire  at  all  the  ports  along  the  coast  to  throw  im- 
pediments in  the  way  of  the  English  service,  and  to  favour 
the  French  and  Italian  boats.  In  those  boats  (which  I 
know  very  well)  great  care  is  taken  of  the  passengers,  and 
the  accommodation  is  very  good.  If  the  Peninsular  and 
Oriental  add  to  all  this  the  risk  of  such  an  exposure  as 
they  are  certain  to  get  (if  they  go  on  so)  in  The  Tunes., 
they  are  dead  sure  to  get  a blow  from  the  public  which 
will  make  them  stagger  again.  I say  nothing  of  the  num- 
ber of  the  passengers  and  the  room  in  the  ship’s  boats, 
though  the  frightful  consideration  the  contrast  presented 
must  have  been  in  more  minds  than  mine.  I speak  only 
of  the  taking  people  for  whom  there  is  no  sort  of  accom- 
modation as  the  most  decided  swindle,  and  the  coolest,  I 
ever  did  with  my  eyes  behold. 

Kindest  regards  from  fellow-travellers. 

Ever,  my  dear  Wills,  faithfully  yours. 

VoL.  I.— 17* 


394 


LETTERS  OF  CL/ARLES  DICKENS, 


[ To  Miss  Jlogarthi] 

Venice,  Friday ^ November  2^th^  1853. 

My  dearest  Georgy, 

We  found  an  English  carriage  from  Padua  at  Florence, 
and  hired  it  to  bring  it  back  again.  We  travelled  post  with 
four  horses  all  the  way  (from  Padua  to  this  place  there  is 
a railroad)  and  travelled  all  night.  We  left  Florence  at 
half-past  six  in  the  morning,  and  got  to  Padua  at  eleven 
next  day — yesterday.  The  cold  at  night  was  most  intense. 
I don’t  think  I have  ever  felt  it  colder.  But  our  carriage  was 
very  comfortable,  and  we  had  some  wine  and  some  rum 
to  keep  us  warm.  We  came  by  Bologna  (where  we  had 
tea)  and  Ferrara.  You  may  imagine  the  delays  in  the 
night  when  I tell  you  that  each  of  our  passports,  after 
receiving  six  vises  at  Florence,  received  in  the  course  of  the 
one  night,  nine  more,  every  one  of  which  was  written  and 
sealed  ; somebody  being  slowly  knocked  out  of  bed  to  do 
it  every  time  ! It  really  was  excruciating. 

Landor  had  sent  me  a letter  to  his  son,  and  on  the  day 
before  we  left  Florence,  I thought  I would  go  out  to  Fie- 
soli  and  leave  it.  So  I got  a little  one-horse  open  car- 
riage and  drove  off  alone.  We  were  within  half  a mile  of 
the  Villa  Landoro,  and  were  driving  down  a very  narrow 
lane  like  one  of  those  at  Albaro,  when  I saw  an  elderly  lady 
coming  towards  us,  very  well  dressed  in  silk  of  the  Queen’s 
blue,  and  walking  freshly  and  briskly  against  the  wind  at 
a good  round  pace.  It  was  a bright,  cloudless,  very  cold 
day,  and  I thought  she  walked  with  great  spirit,  as  if  she 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


395 


enjoyed  it  I also  thought  (perhaps  that  was  having  him 
in  my  mind)  that  her  ruddy  face  was  shaped  like  Landots. 
All  of  a sudden  the  coachman  pulls  up,  and  looks  enquir- 
ingly at  me.  What’s  the  matter  } ” says  I.  Ecco  la 
Signora  Landoro  ? ” says  he.  For  the  love  of  heaven 
don’t  stop,”  says  I.  don’t  know  her,  I am  only  going 
to  the  house  to  leave  a letter — go  on  ! ” Meanwhile  she 
(still  coming  on)  looked  at  me,  and  I looked  at  her,  and 
we  were  both  a good  deal  confused,  and  so  went  our  sev- 
eral ways.  Altogether,  I think  it  was  as  disconcerting  a 
meeting  as  I ever  took  part  in,  and  as  odd  a one.  Under 
any  other  circumstances  I should  have  introduced  myself, 
but  the  separation  made  the  circumstances  so  peculiar  that 

I didn’t  like.” 

The  Plornishghenter  is  evidently  the  greatest,  noblest, 
finest,  cleverest,  brightest,  and  most  brilliant  of  boys.  Your 
account  of  him  is  most  delightful,  and  I hope  to  find  an- 
other letter  from  you  somewhere  on  the  road,  making  me 
informed  of  his  demeanour  on  your  return.  On  which 
occasion,  as  on  every  other,  I have  no  doubt  he  will  have 
distinguished  himself  as  an  irresistibly  attracting,  captivat- 
ing May-Roon-Ti-Goon-Ter.  Give  him  a good  many 
kisses  for  me.  I quite  agree  with  Syd  as  to  his  ideas  of 
paying  attention  to  the  old  gentleman.  It’s  not  bad,  but 
deficient  in  originality.  The  usual  deficiency  of  an  inferior 
intellect  with  so  great  a model  before  him.  I am  very 
curious  to  see  whether  the  Plorn  remembers  me  on  my  re- 
appearance, 

I meant  to  have  gone  to  work  this  morning,  and  to  have 


39^  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


tried  a second  little  story  for  the  Christmas  number  of 
Household  Words/’  but  my  letters  have  (most  pleasant- 
ly) put  me  out,  and  I defer  all  such  wise  efforts  until  to- 
morrow. Egg  and  Collins  are  out  in  a gondola  with  a 
servitore  di  piazza. 

You  will  find  this  but  a stupid  letter,  but  I really  have 
no  news.  We  go  to  the  opera,  whenever  there  is  one,  see 
sights,  eat  and  drink,  sleep  in  a natural  manner  two  or 
three  nights,  and  move  on  again.  Edward  was  a little 
crushed  at  Padua  yesterday.  He  had  been  extraordinarily 
cold  all  night  in  the  rumble,  and  had  got  out  our  clothes 
to  dress,  and  I think  must  have  been  projecting  a five  or 
six  hours’  sleep,  when  I announced  that  he  was  to  come 
on  here  in  an  hour  and  a half  to  get  the  rooms  and  order 
dinner.  He  fell  into  a sudden  despondency  of  the  pro- 
foundest  kind,  but  was  quite  restored  when  we  arrived 
here  between  eight  and  nine.  We  found  him  waiting  at 
the  Custom  House  with  a gondola  in  his  usual  brisk  con- 
dition. 

It  is  extraordinary  how  few  English  we  see.  With  the 
exception  of  a gentlemanly  young  fellow  (in  a consumption 
I am  afraid),  married  to  the  tiniest  little  girl,  in  a brown 
straw  hat,  and  travelling  with  his  sister  and  her  sister,  and 
a consumptive  single  lady,  travelling  with  a maid  and  a 
Scotch  terrier  christened  Trotty  Veck,  we  have  scarcely 
seen  any,  and  have  certainly  spoken  to  none,  since  we  left 
Switzerland.  These  were  aboard  the  Valetta.,  where  the 
captain  and  I indulged  in  all  manner  of  insane  suppositions 
concerning  the  straw  hat — the  Little  Matron  ” we  called 


LETTEl^S  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


397 


her ; by  which  name  she  soon  became  known  all  over  the 
ship.  The  day  we  entered  Rome,  and  the  moment  we 
entered  it,  there  was  the  Little  Matron,  alone  with  antiqui- 
ty— and  Murray — on  the  wall.  The  very  first  church  I 
entered,  there  was  the  Little  Matron.  On  the  last  after- 
noon, when  I went  alone  to  St.  Peter’s,  there  was  the  Lit- 
tle Matron  and  her  party.  The  best  of  it  is,  that  I was 
extremely  intimate  with  them,  invited  them  to  Tavistock 
House,  when  they  come  home  in  the  spring,  and  have  not 
the  faintest  idea  of  their  name. 

There  was  no  table  d’hote  at  Rome,  or  at  Florence,  but 
there  is  one  here,  and  we  dine  at  it  to-day,  so  perhaps  we 
may  stumble  upon  somebody.  I have  heard  from  Charley 
this  morning,  who  appoints  (wisely)  Paris  as  our  place  of 
meeting.  I had  a letter  from  Coote,  at  Florence,  informing 
me  that  his  volume  of  ‘‘  Household  Songs  ” was  ready,  and 
requesting  permission  to  dedicate  it  to  me.  Which  of  course 
I gave. 

I am  beginning  to  think  of  the  Birmingham  readings. 
I suppose  you  won’t  object  to  be  taken  to  hear  them  ? 
This  is  the  last  place  at  which  we  shall  make  a stay  of  more 
than  one  day.  We  shall  stay  at  Parma  one,  and  at  Turin 
one,  supposing  De  la  Rue  to  have  been  successful  in 
taking  places  with  the  courier  into  France  for  the  day  on 
which  we  want  them  (he  was  to  write  to  bankers  at  Turin 
to  do  it),  and  then  we  shall  come  hard  and  fast  home.  I 
feel  almost  there  already,  and  shall  be  delighted  to  close 
the  pleasant  trip,  and  get  back  to  my  own  Piccola  Camera 
—if,  being  English,  you  understand  what  that  is.  My  best 


39^  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 

love  and  kisses  to  Mamey,  Katey,  Sydney,  Harry,  and  the 
noble  Plorn.  Last,  not  least,  to  yourself,  and  many  of  them, 
I will  not  wait  over  to-morrow,  tell  Kate,  for  her  letter  ; 
but  will  write  then,  whether  or  no. 

Ever,  my  dearest  Georgy, 

Most  affectionately  yours. 


[ To  Mr.  Marcus  Stone^ 

Tavistock  House,  December  1853. 

My  dear  Marcus, 

You  made  an  excellent  sketch  from  a book  of  mine 
which  I have  received  (and  have  preserved)  with  great 
pleasure.  Will  you  accept  from  me,  in  remembrance  of 
it,  this  little  book  ? I believe  it  to  be  true,  though  it  may 
be  sometimes  not  as  genteel  as  history  has  a habit  of  being. 

Faithfully  yours. 

1854. 

NARRATIVE. 

The  summer  of  this  year  was  also  spent  at  Boulogne,  M. 
Beaucourt  being  again  the  landlord  ; but  the  house,  though 
still  on  the  same  “ property,”  stood  on  the  top  of  the  hill, 
above  the  Moulineaux,  and  was  called  the  Villa  du  Camp 
de  Droite. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  year  Charles  Dickens  paid  sev- 
eral visits  to  the  English  provinces,  giving  readings  from 
his  books  at  many  of  the  large  manufacturing  towns,  and 
always  for  some  good  and  charitable  purpose. 

He  was  still  at  work  upon  “ Hard  Times,”  which  was 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


399 


finished  during  the  summer,  and  was  constantly  occupied 
with  ‘‘Household  Words/’  Many  of  our  letters  for  this 
year  are  to  the  contributors  to  this  journal.  The  last  is  an 
unusually  interesting  one.  He  had  for  some  time  past  been 
much  charmed  with  the  writings  of  a' certain  Miss  Berwick, 
who,  he  knew,  to  be  a contributor  under  a feigned  name. 
When  at  last  the  lady  confided  her  real  name,  and  he  dis- 
covered in  the  young  poetess  the  daughter  of  his  dear 
friends,  Mr.*  and  Mrs.  Proctor,  the  “new  sensation  ” caused 
him  intense  surprise,  and  the  greatest  pleasure  and  delight. 
Miss  Adelaide  Proctor  was,  from  this  time,  a frequent  con- 
tributor to  “ Household  Words,”  more  especially  to  the 
Christmas  numbers. 

There  are  really  very  few  letters  in  this  year  requiring 
any  explanation  from  us — many  explaining  themselves,  and 
many  having  allusion  to  incidents  in  the  past  year,  which 
have  been  duly  noted  by  us  for  1853. 

The  portrait  mentioned  in  the  letter  to  Mr.  Collins,  for 
which  he  was  sitting  to  Mr.  E.  M.  Ward,  R.A.,  was  to  be 
one  of  a series  of  oil  sketches  of  the  then  celebrated  literary 
men  of  the  day,  in  their  studies.  We  believe  this  portrait 
to  be  now  in  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Ward. 

In  explanation  of  the  letter  to  Mr.  John  Saunders  on  the 
subject  of  the  production  of  the  latter’s  play,  called  “ Love’s 
Martyrdom,”  we  will  give  the  dramatist’s  own  words  : 

‘ ‘ Having  printed  for  private  circulation  a play  entitled 
‘ Love’s  Martyrdom,’  and  for  which  I desired  to  obtain  the 
independent  judgment  of  some  of  our  most  eminent  literary 
men,  before  seeking  the  ordeal  of  the  stage,  I sent  a copy 
to  Mr.  Dickens,  and  the  letter  in  question  is  his  acknowl- 
edgment. 

* * * * * 


* The  poet  “ Barry  Cornwall^ 


400 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


He  immediately  took  steps  for  the  introduction  of  the 
play  to  the  theatre.  At  first  he  arranged  with  Mr.  Phelps, 
of  Sadler's  Wells,  but  subsequently,  with  that  gentleman's 
consent,  removed  it  to  the  Haymarket.  There  it  was  played 
with  Miss  Helen  Faucit  in  the  character  of  Margaret,  Miss 
Swanborough  (who  shortly  after  married  and  left  the  stage) 
as  Julia,  Mr.  Barry  Sullivan  as  Franklyn,  and  Mr.  Howe 
as  Laneham. 

As  far  as  the  play  itself  was  concerned,  it  was  received 
on  all  sides  as  a genuine  dramatic  and  poetic  success, 
achieved,  however,  as  an  eminent  critic  came  to  my  box  to 
say,  through  greater  difficulties  than  he  had  ever  before 
seen  a dramatic  work  pass  through.  The  time  has  not 
come  for  me  to  speak  freely  of  these,  but  I may  point  to 
two  of  them  : the  first  being  the  inadequate  rehearsals, 
which  caused  Mr.  Dickens  to  tell  me  on  the  stage,  four  or 
five  days  only  before  the  first  performance,  that  the  play 
was  not  then  in  as  good  a state  as  it  would  have  been  in  at 
Paris  three  weeks  earlier.  The  other  was  the  breakdown 
of  the  performer  of  a most  important  secondary  part ; a 
collapse  so  absolute  that  he  was  changed  by  the  manage- 
ment before  the  second  representation  of  the  piece." 

This  ill-luck  of  the  beginning,  pursued  the  play  to  its 
close. 

“ The  Haymarket  Theatre  was  at  the  time  in  the  very 
lowest  state  of  prostration,  through  the  Crimean  War ; the 
habitual  frequenters  were  lovers  of  comedy,  and  enjoyers 
of  farce  and  burlesque  ; and  there  was  neither  the  money 
nor  the  faith  to  call  to  the  theatre  by  the  usual  methods, 
vigorously  and  discriminatingly  pursued,  the  multitudes 
that  I believed  could  have  been  so  called  to  a better  and 
more  romantic  class  of  comedy. 

Even  under  these  and  other  similarly  depressing  cir- 
cumstances, the  nightly  receipts  were  about  ;^6o,  the  ex- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


401 


penses  being  ; and  on  the  last — an  author’s — night, 
there  was  an  excellent  and  enthusiastic  house,  yielding, 
to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  about  ^140,  but  certainly 
between  ;^i2o  and  ^^140.  And  with  that  night — the  sixth 
or  seventh — the  experiment  ended.” 

\_To  Mr,  Walter  Savage  Landor.^ 

Tavistock  House,  January  1854. 

My  dear  Landor, 

I heartily  assure  you  that  to  have  your  name  coupled 
with  anything  I have  done  is  an  honour  and  a pleasure  to 
me.  I cannot  say  that  I am  sorry  that  you  should  have 
thought  it  necessary  to  write  to  me,  for  it  is  always  delight- 
ful to  me  to  see  your  hand,  and  to  know  (though  I want 
no  outward  and  visible  sign  as  an  assurance  of  the  fact) 
that  you  are  ever  the  same  generous,  earnest,  gallant  man. 
Catherine  and  Georgina  send  their  kind  loves.  So  does 
Walter  Landor,  who  came  home  from  school  with  high 
judicial  commendation  and  a prize  into  the  bargain. 

Ever,  my  dear  Landor,  affectionately  yours. 

{To  the  Hon,  Mrs.  Watson. \ 

Tavistock  House,  Friday,  January  i2,th,  1854. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

On  the  very  day  after  I sent  the  Christmas  number  to 
Rockingham,  I heard  of  your  being  at  Brighton.  I should 
have  sent  another  there,  but  that  I had  a misgiving  I might 
seem  to  be  making  too  much  of  it.  For,  when  I thought 
of  the  probability  of  the  Rockingham  copy  going  on  to 


402 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


^ Brighton,  and  pictured  to  myself  the  advent  of  two  of 
those  very  large  envelopes  at  once  at  Junction  House  at 
breakfast  time,  a sort  of  comic  modesty  overcame  me.  I 
was  heartily  pleased  with  the  Birmingham  audience,  which 
was  a very  fine  one.  I never  saw,  nor  do  I suppose  any- 
body ever  did,  such  an  interesting  sight  as  the  working- 
people’s  night.  There  were  two  thousand  five  hundred  of 
them  there,  and  a more  delicately  observant  audience  it  is 
impossible  to  imagine.  They  lost  nothing,  misinterpreted 
nothing,  followed  everything  closely,  laughed  and  cried 
with  most  delightful  earnestness,  and  animated  me  to  that 
extent  that  I felt  as  if  we  were  all  bodily  going  up  into  the 
clouds  together.  It  is  an  enormous  place  for  the  purpose  ; 
but  I had  considered  all  that  carefully,  and  I believe  made 
the  most  distant  person  hear  as  well  as  if  I had  been  read- 
ing in  my  own  room.  I was  a little  doubtful  before  I began 
on  the  first  night  whether  it  was  quite  practicable  to  con- 
ceal the  requisite  effort ; but  I soon  had  the  satisfaction 
of  finding  that  it  was,  and  that  we  were  all  going  on  to- 
gether, in  the  first  page,  as  easily,  to  all  appearance,  as  if 
we  had  been  sitting  round  the  fire. 

I am  obliged  to  go  out  on  Monday  at  five  and  to  dine 
out ; but  I will  be  at  home  at  any  time  before  that  hour 
that  you  may  appoint.  You  say  you  are  only  going  to  stay 
one  night  in  town  ; but  if  you  could  stay  two,  and  would 
dine  with  us  alone  Tuesday,  that  is  the  plan  that  we  should 
all  like  best.  Let  me  have  one  word  from  you  by  post 
on  Monday  morning.  Few  things  that  I saw,  when  I was 
away,  took  my  fancy  so  much  as  the  Electric  Telegraph, 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


403 


piercing,  like  a sunbeam,  right  through  the  cruel  old  heart 
of  the  Coliseum  at  Rome.  And  on  the  summit  of  the 
Alps,  among  the  eternal  ice  and  snow,  there  it  was  still, 
with  its  posts  sustained  against  the  sweeping  mountain 
winds  by  clusters  of  great  beams — to  say  nothing  of  its 
being  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  as  we  crossed  the  Channel. 
With  kindest  loves, 

Ever,  my  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

Most  faithfully  yours. 

iTo  Miss  Mary  Boylei\ 

Tavistock  House,  Monday,  January  16th,  1854. 
My  dear  Mary, 

It  is  all  very  well  to  pretend  to  love  me  as  you  do.  Ah  ! 
If  you  loved  as  I love,  Mary  ! But,  when  my  breast  is 
tortured  by  the  perusal  of  such  a letter  as  yours,  Falkland, 
Falkland,  madam,  becomes  my  part  in  The  Rivals,’'  and 
I play  it  with  desperate  earnestness. 

As  thus  : 

Falkland  {to  Acres).  Then  you  see  her,  sir,  sometimes  ? 

Acres.  See  her  ! Odds  beams  and  sparkles,  yes.  See  her  acting  ! 
Night  after  night. 

Falkland  (aside  and  furious).  Death  and  the  devil  ! Acting,  and  I 
not  there  ! Pray,  sir  (with  constrained  calmness),  what 
does  she  act  ? 

Acres.  Odds,  monthly  nurses  and  babbies  ! Sairey  Gamp  and 
Betsey  Prig,  “ which,  woteverit  is,  my  (mimicking), 

I likes  it  brought  regular  and  draw’d  mild  ! ” That's 
very  like  her. 

Falkland.  Confusion  ! Laceration  ! Perhaps,  sir,  perhaps  she  some- 
times acts— ha  ! ha  ! perhaps  she  sometimes  acts,  I say — 
eh  ! sir  ? — a — ha,  ha,  ha  ! a fairy  ? ( With  great  bitterness i) 


404 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


Acres.  Odds,  gauzy  pinions  and  spangles,  yes  ! You  should  hear 
her  sing  as  a fairy.  You  should  see  her  dance  as  a 
fairy.  Tol  de  rol  lol — la — lol — liddle  diddle.  i^Sings  and 
dances).  Thai's  very  like  her. 

Falkland.  Misery  ! while  I,  devoted  to  her  image,  can  scarcely  write 
a line  now  and  then,  or  pensively  read  aloud  to  the  peo- 
ple of  Birmingham.  {To  him.)  And  they  applaud  her, 
no  doubt  they  applaud  her,  sir.  And  she — I see  her  ! 
Curtsies  and  smiles  ! And  they — curses  on  them  ! they 
laugh  and — ha,  ha,  ha  ! — and  clap  their  hands — and  say 
it’s  very  good.  Do  they  not  say  it’s  very  good,  sir  ? 
Tell  me.  Do  they  not  ? 

Acres.  Odds,  thunderings  and  pealings,  of  course  they  do  ! and 
the  third  fiddler,  little  Tweaks,  of  the  county  town,  goes 
into  fits.  Ho,  ho,  ho,  I can’t  bear  it  {fnimicking)  ; take 
me  out ! Ha,  ha,  ha  ! O what  a one  she  is  ! She’ll  be 
the  death  of  me.  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  ! That's^^xy  like  her  ! 
Falkland.  Damnation  ! Heartless  Mary  ! {Rushes  out.) 

Scene  opens,  and  discloses  coals  of  fire,  heaped  up  into 
form  of  letters,  representing  the  following  inscription  : 

When  the  praise  thou  meetest 
To  thine  ear  is  sweetest, 

O then 

Remember  Joe  ! 

{Curtain  falls.) 

[Zb  M.  de  Cerjat^ 

Tavistock  House,  Monday,  Jan.  i6th,  1854. 
My  dear  Cerjat, 

Guilty.  The  accused  pleads  guilty,  but  throws  himself 
upon  the  mercy  of  the  court.  He  humbly  represents  that 
his  usual  hour  for  getting  up,  in  the  course  of  his  travels, 
was  three  o’clock  in  the  morning,  and  his  usual  hour  for 
going  to  bed,  nine  or  ten  the  next  night.  That  the  places 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


405 


in  which  he  chiefly  deviated  from  these  rules  of  hardship, 
were  Rome  and  Venice  ; and  that  at  those  cities  of  fame 
he  shut  himself  up  in  solitude,  and  wrote  Christmas  papers 
for  the  incomparable  publication  known  as  Household 
Words.”  That  his  correspondence  at  all  times,  arising 
out  of  the  business  of  the  said  Household  Words  ” alone, 
was  very  heavy.  That  his  offence,  though  undoubtedly 
committed,  was  unavoidable,  and  that  a nominal  punish- 
ment will  meet  the  justice  of  the  case. 

We  had  only  three  bad  days  out  of  the  whole  time. 
After  Naples,  which  was  very  hot,  we  had  very  cold,  clear, 
bright  weather.  When  we  got  to  Chamounix,  we  found 
the  greater  part  of  the  inns  shut  up  and  the  people  gone. 
No  visitors  whatsoever,  and  plenty  of  snow.  These  were 
the  very  best  circumstances  under  which  to  see  the  place, 
and  we  stayed  a couple  of  days  at  the  Hotel  de  Londres 
(hastily  re-furbished  for  our  entertainment),  and  climbed 
through  the  snow  to  the  Mer  de  Glace,  and  thoroughly 
enjoyed  it.  Then  we  went,  in  mule  procession  (I  walking) 
to  the  old  hotel  at  Martigny,  where  Collins  was  ill,  and  I 
suppose  I bored  Egg  to  death  by  talking  all  the  evening 
about  the  time  when  you  and  I were  there  together. 
Naples  (a  place  always  painful  to  me,  in  the  intense  degra- 
dation of  the  people)  seems  to  have  only  three  classes  of 
inhabitants  left  in  it — priests,  soldiers  (standing  army  one 
hundred  thousand  strong),  and  spies.  Of  macaroni  we  ate 
very  considerable  quantities  everywhere  ; also,  for  the  ben- 
efit of  Italy,  we  took  our  share  of  every  description  of  wine. 
At  Naples  I found  Layard,  the  Nineveh  traveller,  who  is  a 


4o6  letters  of  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


friend  of  mine  and  an  admirable  fellow  ; so  we  fraternised 
and  went  up  Vesuvius  together,  and  ate  more  macaroni 
and  drank  more  wine.  At  Rome,  the  day  after  our  arrival, 
they  were  making  a saint  at  St.  Peter's  ; on  which  occasion 
I was  surprised  to  find  what  an  immense  number  of  pounds 
of  wax  candles  it  takes  to  make  the  regular,  genuine  arti- 
cle. From  Turin  to  Paris,  over  the  Mont  Cenis,  we  made 
only  one  journey.  The  Rhone,  being  frozen  and  foggy, 
was  not  to  be*  navigated,  so  we  posted  from  Lyons  to 
Chalons^  and  everybody  else  was  doing  the  like,  and  there 
were  no  horses  to  be  got,  and  we  were  stranded  at  mid- 
night in  amazing  little  cabarets,  with  nothing  worth  men- 
tioning to  eat  in  them,  except  the  iron  stove,  which  was 
rusty,  and  the  billiard- table,  which  was  musty.  We  left 
Turin  on  a Tuesday  evening,  and  arrived  in  Paris  on  a Fri- 
day evening ; where  I found  my  son  Charley,  hot — or  I 
should  rather  say  cold — from  Germany,  with  his  arms  and 
legs  so  grown  out  of  his  coat  and  trousers,  that  I was 
ashamed  of  him,  and  was  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  taking 
him,  under  cover  of  night,  to  a ready-made  establishment 
in  the  Palais  Royal,  where  they  put  him  into  balloon-waisted 
pantaloons,  and  increased  my  confusion.  Leaving  Calais 
on  the  evening  of  Sunday,  the  loth  of  December  ; fact  of 
distinguished  author's  being  aboard,  was  telegraphed  to 
Dover ; thereupon  authorities  of  Dover  Railway  detained 
train  to  London  for  distinguished  author's  arrival,  rather 
to  the  exasperation  of  British  public.  D.  A.  arrived  at 
home  between  ten  and  eleven  that  night,  thank  God,  and 
found  all  well  and  happy. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


407 


I think  you  see  The  Times^  and  if  so,  you  will  have  seen 
a very  graceful  and  good  account  of  the  Birmingham  read- 
ings. It  was  the  most  remarkable  thing  that  England 
could  produce,  I think,  in  the  way  of  a vast  intelligent 
assemblage ; and  the  success  was  most  wonderful  and 
prodigious — perfectly  overwhelming  and  astounding  alto- 
gether. They  wound  up  by  giving  my  wife  a piece  of 
plate,  having  given  me  one  before  ; and  when  you  come  to 
dine  here  (may  it  be  soon  !)  it  shall  be  duly  displayed  in 
the  centre  of  the  table. 

Tell  Mrs.  Cerjat,  to  whom  my  love,  and  all  our  loves, 
that  I have  highly  excited  them  at  home  here  by  giving 
them  an  account  in  detail  of  all  your  daughters  ; further, 
that  the  way  in  which  Catherine  and  Georgina  have  ques- 
tioned me  and  cross-questioned  me  about  you  all,  notwith- 
standing, is  maddening.  Mrs.  Watson  has  been  obliged 
to  pass  her  Christmas  at  Brighton  alone  with  her  younger 
children,  in  consequence  of  her  two  eldest  boys  coming 
home  to  Rockingham  from  school  with  the  whooping-cough. 
The  quarantine  expires  to-day,  however  ; and  she  drives 
here,  on  her  way  back  into  Northamptonshire,  to-morrow. 

The  sad  affair  of  the  Preston  strike  remains  unsettled ; 
and  I hear,  on  strong  authority,  that  if  that  were  settled, 
the  Manchester  people  are  prepared  to  strike  next.  Pro- 
visions very  dear,  but  the  people  very  temperate  and 
quiet  in  general.  So  ends  this  jumble,  which  looks  like 
the  index  to  a chapter  in  a book,  I find,  when  I read  it 
over. 

Ever,  my  dear  Cerjat,  heartily  your  Friend. 


408  letters  of  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

\To  Mr.  Arthur  Ryland^ 

Tavistock  House,  January  i%th,  1854. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I am  quite  delighted  to  find  that  you  are  so  well  satis- 
fied, and  that  the  enterprise  has  such  a light  upon  it.  I 
think  I never  was  better  pleased  in  my  life  than  I was 
with  my  Birmingham  friends. 

That  principle  of  fair  representation  of  all  orders  care- 
fully carried  out,  I believe,  will  do  more  good  than  any  of 
us  can  yet  foresee.  Does  it  not  seem  a strange  thing  to 
consider  that  I have  never  yet  seen  with  these  eyes  of 
mine,  a mechanic  in  any  recognised  position  on  the  plat- 
form of  a Mechanics’  Institution  ? 

Mr.  Wills  may  be  expected  to  sink,  shortly,  under  the 
ravages  of  letters  from  all  parts  of  England,  Ireland,  and 
Scotland,  proposing  readings.  He  keeps  up  his  spirits, 
but  I don’t  see  how  they  are  to  carry  him  through. 

Mrs.  Dickens  and  Miss  Hogarth  beg  their  kindest  re- 
gards ; and  I am,  my  dear  sir,  with  much  regard,  too. 

Very  faithfully  yours. 

[7h  Mr.  Charles  Knight?^ 

Tavistock  House,  January  2>oth,  1854. 

My  dear  Knight, 

Indeed  there  is  no  fear  of  my  thinking  you  the  owner  of 
a cold  heart.  I am  more  than  three  parts  disposed,  how- 
ever, to  be  ferocious  with  you  for  ever  writing  down  such 
a preposterous  truism. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS,  409 

My  satire  is  against  those  who  see  figures  and  averages, 
and  nothing  else — the  representatives  of  the  wickedest  and 
most  enormous  vice  of  this  time — the  men  who,  through 
long  years  to  come,  will  do  more  to  damage  the  real  useful 
truths  of  political  economy  than  I could  do  (if  I tried)  in 
my  whole  life  ; the  addled  heads  who  would  take  the 
average  of  cold  in  the  Crimea  during  twelve  months  as  a 
reason  for  clothing  a soldier  in  nankeens  on  a night  when 
he  would  be  frozen  to  death  in  fur,  and  who  would  com- 
fort the  labourer  in  travelling  twelve  miles  a day  to  and 
from  his  work,  by  telling  him  that  the  average  distance  of 
one  inhabited  place  from  another  in  the  whole  area  of 
England,  is  not  more  than  four  miles.  Bah  ! What  have 
you  to  do  with  these  ? 

I shall  put  the  book  upon  a private  shelf  (after  reading 
it)  by  ‘‘Once  upon  a Time.’'  I should  have  buried  my 
pipe  of  peace  and  sent  you  this  blast  of  my  war-horn  three 
or  four  days  ago,  but  that  I have  been  reading  to  a little 
audience  of  three  thousand  five  hundred  at  Bradford. 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 


[7h  Rev,  James  White ^ 

Tavistock  House,  Tuesday,  March  ^fh,  1854. 
My  dear  White, 

I am  tardy  in  answering  your  letter  ; but  “ Hard  Times,” 
and  an  immense  amount  of  enforced  correspondence,  are 
my  excuse.  To  you  a sufficient  one,  I know. 

VoL.  I. — 18 


410 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


As  I should  judge  from  outward  and  visible  appearances, 
I have  exactly  as  much  chance  of  seeing  the  Russian  fleet 
reviewed  by  the  Czar  as  I have  of  seeing  the  English  fleet 
reviewed  by  the  Queen. 

Club  Law  made  me  laugh  very  much  when  I went 
over  it  in  the  proof  yesterday.  It  is  most  capitally  done, 
and  not  (as  I feared  it  might  be)  too  directly.  It  is  in  the 
next  number  but  one. 

Mrs. has  gone  stark  mad — and  stark  naked — on 

the  spirit-rapping  imposition.  She  was  found  t’other  day 
in  the  street,  clothed  only  in  her  chastity,  a pocket-hand- 
kerchief and  a visiting  card.  She  had  been  informed,  it 
appeared,  by  the  spirits,  that  if  she  went  out  in  that  trim 
she  would  be  invisible.  She  is  now  in  a madhouse,  and, 
I fear,  hopelessly  insane.  One  of  the  curious  manifesta- 
tions of  her  disorder  is  that  she  can  bear  nothing  black. 
There  is  a terrific  business  to  be  done,  even  when  they  are 
obliged  to  put  coals  on  her  fire. 

has  a thing  called  a Psycho-grapher,  which  writes 

at  the  dictation  of  spirits.  It  delivered  itself,  a few  nights 
ago,  of  this  extraordinarily  lucid  message  : 

X.  Y.  z ! 

upon  which  it  was  gravely  explained  by  the  true  believers 
that  ‘^the  spirits  were  out  of  temper  about  something.” 
Said had  a great  party  on  Sunday,  when  it  was  ru- 

moured ^‘a  count  was  going  to  raise  the  dead.”  I stayed 
till  the  ghostly  hour,  but  the  rumour  was  unfounded,  for 
neither  count  nor  plebeian  came  up  to  the  spiritual  scratch. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS,  4^ 

It  is  really  inexplicable  to  me  that  a man  of  his  calibre  can 
be  run  away  with  by  such  small  deer. 

A propos  of  spiritual  messages  comes  in  Georgina,  and, 
hearing  that  I am  writing  to  you,  delivers  the  following 
enigma  to  be  conveyed  to  Mrs.  White  : 

Wyon  of  the  Mint  lives  at  the  Mint.’’ 

Feeling  my  brain  going  after  this,  I only  trust  it  with 
loves  from  all  to  all. 

Ever  faithfully. 


[7h  Mr,  Charles  Knight 

Tavistock  House,  March  i^th,  1854. 

My  dear  Knight, 

I have  read  the  article  with  much  interest.  It  is  most 
conscientiously  done,  and  presents  a great  mass  of  curious 
information  condensed  into  a surprisingly  small  space. 

I have  made  a slight  note  or  two  here  and  there,  with  a 
soft  pencil,  so  that  a touch  of  indiarubber  will  make  all 
blank  again. 

And  I earnestly  entreat  your  attention  to  the  point  (I 
have  been  working  upon  it,  weeks  past,  in  Hard  Times  ”) 
which  I have  jocosely  suggested  on  the  last  page  but  one. 
The  English  are,  so  far  as  I know,  the  hardest-worked 
people  on  whom  the  sun  shines.  Be  content  if,  in  their 
wretched  intervals  of  pleasure,  they  read  for  amusement 
and  do  no  worse.  They  are  born  at  the  oar,  and  they  live 
and  die  at  it.  Good  God,  what  would  we  have  of  them  ! 

Affectionately  yours  always. 


412 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


iToMr,  W,H.  Wills.] 

Office  of  “ Household  Words,” 

No.  1 6,  Wellington  Street,  North  Strand, 
Wednesday^  April  I2th^  1854. 

* * ^ * 

I know  all  the  walks  for  many  and  many  miles  round 
about  Malvern,  and  delightful  walks  they  are.  I suppose 
you  are  already  getting  very  stout,  very  red,  very  jovial 
(in  a physical  point  of  view)  altogether. 

Mark  and  I walked  to  Dartford  from  Greenwich,  last 

Monday,  and  found  Mrs. acting  The  Stranger 

(with  a strolling  company  from  the  Standard  Theatre)  in 
Mr.  Munn’s  schoolroom.  The  stage  was  a little  wider 
than  your  table  here,  and  its  surface  was  composed  of  loose 
boards  laid  on  the  school  forms.  Dogs  sniffed  about  it 
during  the  performances,  and  the  carpenter’s  highlows  were 
ostentatiously  taken  off  and  displayed  in  the  proscenium. 

We  stayed  until  a quarter  to  ten,  when  we  were  obliged 
to  fly  to  the  railroad,  but  we  sent  the  landlord  of  the  hotel 
down  with  the  following  articles  : 


I bottle  superior  old  port. 


I 

do. 

do. 

golden  sherry. 

I 

do. 

do. 

best  French  brandy. 

I 

do. 

do. 

I St  quality  old  Tom  gin. 

I 

do. 

do. 

prime  Jamaica  rum. 

I 

do. 

do. 

small  still  Isla  whiskey, 

I kettle  boiling  water,  two  pounds  finest 
white  lump  sugar. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


413 


Our  cards, 

I lemon, 

and 

Our  compliments. 

The  effect  we  had  previously  made  upon  the  theatrical 
company  by  being  beheld  in  the  first  two  chairs — there 
was  nearly  a pound  in  the  house — was  altogether  electrical. 

My  ladies  send  their  kindest  regards,  and  are  disap- 
pointed at  your  not  saying  that  you  drink  two-and-twenty 
tumblers  of  the  limpid  element,  every  day.  The  children 
also  unite  in  “ loves,’’  and  the  Plornishgh enter,  on  being 
asked  if  he  would  send  his,  replies  Yes — man,”  which  we 
understand  to  signify  cordial  acquiescence. 

Forster  just  come  back  from  lecturing  at  Sherborne. 
Describes  said  lecture  as  “Blaze  of  Triumph.” 

H.  W.  AGAIN. 

Miss — I mean  Mrs. — Bell’s  story  very  nice.  I have  sent 
it  to  the  printer,  and  entitled  it  “ The  Green  Ring  and  the 
Gold  Ring.” 

This  apartment  looks  desolate  in  your  absence  ; but, 
O Heavens,  how  tidy  ! 

F.  W. 

Mrs.  Wills  supposed  to  have  gone  into  a convent  at 
Somers  Town. 


My  dear  Wills, 

Ever  faithfully  yours. 


414 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


ITO  Mr.  B.  W.  Procter?^ 

Tavistock  House,  Saturday  Night,  April  i^th,  1854. 
My  dear  Procter, 

I have  read  the  Fatal  Revenge/'  Don't  do  what  the 
minor  theatrical  people  call  despi-ser  " me,  but  I think 
it's  very  bad.  The  concluding  narrative  is  by  far  the 
most  meritorious  part  of  the  business.  Still,  the  people 
are  so  very  convulsive  and  tumble  down  so  many  places, 
and  are  always  knocking  other  people's  bones  about  in 
such  a very  irrational  way,  that  I object.  The  way  in 
which  earthquakes  won't  swallow  the  monsters,  and  volca- 
noes in  eruption  won't  boil  them,  is  extremely  aggravating. 
Also  their  habit  of  bolting  when  they  are  going  to  explain 
anything. 

You  have  sent  me  a very  different  and  a much  better 
book  ; and  for  that  I am  truly  grateful.  With  the  dust  of 

Maturin  " in  my  eyes,  I sat  down  and  read  The  Death 
of  Friends,"  and  the  dust  melted  away  in  some  of  those 
tears  it  is  good  to  shed.  I remember  to  have  read  “ The 
Backroom  Window  " some  years  ago,  and  I have  associ- 
ated it  with  you  ever  since.  It  is  a most  delightful  pa- 
per. But  the  two  volumes  are  all  delightful,  and  I have 
put  them  on  a shelf  where  you  sit  down  with  Charles 
Lamb  again,  with  Talfourd’s  vindication  of  him  hard  by. 

We  never  meet.  I hope  it  is  not  irreligious,  but  in 
this  strange  London  I have  an  inclination  to  adapt  a 
portion  of  the  Church  Service  to  our  common  experience. 
Thus  ; 


LETTERS  OF  C/LA  RTFS  DICKENS. 


4^; 


‘‘We  have  left  unmet  the  people  whom  ,we  ought  to 
have  met,  and  we  have  met  the  people  whom  we  ought 
not  to  have  met,  and  there  seems  to  be  no  help  in 
us.” 

t 

But  I am  always,  my  dear  Procter, 

(At  a distance), 

Very  cordially  yours. 


To  Mrs.  Gaskell.^ 

Tavistock  House,  April  21s 1854. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Gaskell, 

I safely  received  the  paper  from  Mr.  Shaen,  welcomed 
it  with  three  cheers,  and  instantly  despatched  it  to  the 
printer,  who  has  it  in  hand  now. 

I have  no  intention  of  striking.  The  monstrous  claims 
at  domination  made  by  a certain  class  of  manufacturers, 
and  the  extent  to  which  the  way  is  made  easy  for  working 
men  to  slide  down  into  discontent  under  such  hands,  are 
within  my  scheme  ; but  I am  not  going  to  strike,  so  don’t 
be  afraid  of  me.  But  I wish  you  would  look  at  the  story 
yourself,  and  judge  where  and  how  near  I seem  to  be 
approaching  what  you  have  in  your  mind.  The  first  two 
months  of  it  will  show  that. 

I will  “ make  my  will  ” on  the  first  favourable  occasion. 
We  were  playing  games  last  night,  and  were  fearfully 
clever.  With  kind  regards  to  Mr.  Gaskell,  always,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Gaskell, 


Faithfully  yours. 


4^6  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


[ To  Mr.  Frank  Stone,  A.F.A.] 

Tavistock  House,  May  30M,  1854. 

My  dear  Stone, 

I csinnof  stand  a total  absence  of  ventilation,  and  I 
should  have  liked  (in  an  amiable  and  persuasive  manner) 

to  have  punched  ’s  head,  and  opened  the  register 

stoves.  I saw  the  supper  tables,  sir,  in  an  empty  state, 
and  was  charmed  with  them.  Likewise  I recovered  my- 
self from  a swoon,  occasioned  by  long  contact  with  an  un- 
ventilated man  of  a strong  flavour  from  Copenhagen,  by 
drinking  an  unknown  species  of  celestial  lemonade  in  that 
enchanted  apartment. 

I am  grieved  to  say  that  on  Saturday  I stand  engaged 

to  dine,  at  three  weeks'  notice,  with  one , a man 

who  has  read  every  book  that  ever  was  written,  and  is  a 
perfect  gulf  of  information.  Before  exploding  a mine  of 
knowledge  he  has  a habit  of  closing  one  eye  and  wrink- 
ling up  his  nose,  so  that  he  seems  perpetually  to  be  taking 
aim  at  you  and  knocking  you  over  with  a terrific  charge. 
Then  he  looks  again,  and  takes  another  aim.  So  you  are 
always  on  your  back,  with  your  legs  in  the  air. 

How  can  a man  be  conversed  with,  or  walked  with,  in 
the  county  of  Middlesex,  when  he  is  reviewing  the  Kentish 
Militia  on  the  shores  of  Dover,  or  sailing,  every  day  for 
three  weeks,  between  Dover  and  Calais  ? 

Ever  affectionately. 

P.S. — Humphry  Clinker"  is  certainly  Smollett's  best. 
I am  rather  divided  between  Peregrine  Pickle  " and 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS,  41/ 

Roderick  Random,”  both  extraordinarily  good  in  their 
way,  which  is  a way  without  tenderness  ; but  you  will  have 
to  read  them  both,  and  I send  the  first  volume  of  Pere- 
grine” as  the  richer  of  the  two. 

\To  Mr.  Peter  Cunningham^ 

Tavistock  House,  June  1854. 

. My  dear  Cunningham, 

I cannot  become  one  of  the  committee  for  Wilson’s 
statue,  after  entertaining  so  strong  an  opinion  against  the 
expediency  of  such  a memorial  in  poor  dear  Talfourd’s 
case.  But  I will  subscribe  my  three  guineas,  and  will  pay 
that  sum  to  the  account  at  Coutts’s  when  I go  there  next 
week,  before  leaving  town. 

The  Goldsmiths  ” admirably  done  throughout.  It  is  a 
book  I have  long  desired  to  see  done,  and  never  expected 
to  see  half  so  well  done.  Many  thanks  to  you  for  it. 

Ever  faithfully  yours. 

P.S. — Please  to  observe  the  address  at  Boulogne  : Villa 

du  Camp  de  Droite.” 

\^To  Mr.  W.H.  Wills.] 

Villa  du  Camp  de  Droite,  Thursday^  June  22nd^  1854. 
My  dear  Wills, 

I have  nothing  to  say,  but  having  heard  from  you  this 
morning,  think  I may  as  well  report  all  well. 

We  have  a rnost  charming  place  here.  It  beats  the 
former  residence  all  to  nothing.  We  have  a beautiful 
garden,  with  all  its  fruits  and  flowers,  and  a field  of  our 
VoL.  I.— 18* 


41 8 LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 

own,  and  a road  of  our  own  away  to  the  Column,  and 
everything  that  is  airy  and  fresh.  The  great  Beaucourt 
hovers  about  us  like  a guardian  genius,  and  I imagine  that 
no  English  person  in  a carriage  could  by  any  possibility 
find  the  place. 

Of  the  wonderful  inventions  and  contrivances  with 
which  a certain  inimitable  creature  has  made  the  most  of 
it,  I will  say  nothing,  until  you  have  an  opportunity  of 
inspecting  the  same.  At  present  I will  only  observe  that 
I have  written  exactly  seventy-two  words  of  Hard  Times  ” 
since  I have  been  here. 

The  children  arrived  on  Tuesday  night,  by  London  boat, 
in  every  stage  and  aspect  of  sea-sickness. 

The  camp  is  about  a mile  off,  and  huts  are  now  building, 
for  (they  say)  sixty  thousand  soldiers.  I don’t  imagine  it 
to  be  near  enough  to  bother  us. 

If  the  weather  ever  should  be  fine,  it  might  do  you  good 
sometimes  to  come  over  with  the  proofs  on  a Saturday, 
when  the  tide  serves  well,  before  you  and  Mrs.  W.  make 
your  annual  visit.  Recollect  there  is  always  a bed,  and  no 
sudden  appearance  will  put  us  out. 

Kind  regards.  Ever  faithfully. 

\^To  Mr,  W,  Wilkie  Collins^ 

Villa  du  Camp  de  Droite,  Boulogne, 

Wednesday  Nighty  1854. 

My  dear  Collins, 

^ • 

Bobbing  up,  corkwise,  from  a sea  of  Hard  Times,”  I 
beg  to  report  this  tenement — amazing  ! ! ! Range  of 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


419 


view  and  air,  most  free  and  delightful ; hill-side  garden, 
delicious ; field,  stupendous ; speculations  in  haycocks 
already  effected  by  the  undersigned,  with  the  view  to  the 
keeping  up  of  a home ''  at  rounders. 

I hope  to  finish  and  get  to  town  by  next  Wednesday 
night,  the  19th  ; what  do  you  say  to  coming  back  with  me 
on  the  following  Tuesday  ? The  interval  I propose  to  pass 
in  a career  of  amiable  dissipation  and  unbounded  license 
in  the  metropolis.  If  you  will  come  and  breakfast  with 
me  about  midnight — anywhere — any  day,  and  go  to  bed 
no  more  until  we  fly  to  these  pastoral  retreats,  I shall  be 
delighted  to  have  so  vicious  an  associate. 

Will  you  undertake  to  let  Ward  know  that  if  he  still 
wishes  me  to  sit  to  him,  he  shall  have  me  as  long  as 
he  likes,  at  Tavistock  House,  on  Monday,  the  24th,  from 
ten  A.M.  1 

I have  made  it  understood  here  that  we  shall  want  to  be 
taken  the  greatest  care  of  this  summer,  and  to  be  fed  on 
nourishing  meats.  Several  new  dishes  have  been  rehearsed 
and  have  come  out  very  well.  I have  met  with  what  they 
call  in  the  City  ‘^a  parcel  ’’  of  the  celebrated  1846  cham- 
pagne. It  is  very  fine  wine,  and  calculated  to  do  us  good 
when  weak. 

The  camp  is  about  a mile  off.  Voluptuous  English 
authors  reposing  from  their  literary  fatigues  (on  their 
laurels)  are  expected,  when  all  other  things  fail,  to  lie  on 
straw  in  the  midst  of  it  when  the  days  are  sunny,  and 
stare  at  the  blue  sea  until  they  fall  asleep.  (About  one 
hundred  and  fifty  soldiers  have  been  at  various  times 


420 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


billeted  on  Beaucourt  since  we  have  been  here,  and  he 
has  clinked  glasses  with  them  every  one,  and  read  a MS. 
book  of  his  father’s,  on  soldiers  in  general,  to  them  all.) 

I shall  be  glad  to  hear  what  you  say  to  these  various 
proposals.  I write  with  the  Emperor  in  the  town,  and  a 
great  expenditure  of  tricolour  floating  thereabouts,  but  no 
stir  makes  its  way  to  this  inaccessible  retreat.  It  is  like  be- 
ing up  in  a balloon.  Lionising  Englishmen  and  Germans 
start  to  call,  and  are  found  lying  imbecile  in  the  road  half- 
way up.  Ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! 

Kindest  regards  from  all.  The  Plornishghenter  adds  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Goose’s  duty. 

Ever  faithfully. 

P.S. — The  cobbler  has  been  ill  these  many  months,  and 
unable  to  work  ; has  had  a carbuncle  in  his  back,  and  has 
it  cut  three  times  a week.  The  little  dog  sits  at  the  door 
so  unhappy  and  anxious  to  help,  that  I every  day  expect 
to  see  him  beginning  a pair  of  top  boots. 

[7b  Miss  Hogarth^ 

Office  of  “Household  Words,”  Saturday,  July  1854. 
My  dear  Georgina, 

Neither  you  nor  Catherine  did  justice  to  Collins’s  book.* 
I think  it  far  away  the  cleverest  novel  I have  ever  seen 
written  by  a new  hand.  It  is  in  some  respects  masterly. 
‘‘Valentine  Blyth  ” is  as  original,  and  as  well  done  as  any- 


*“Hide  and  Seek.” 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


421 


thing  can  be.  The  scene  where  he  shows  his  pictures  is 
full  .of  an  admirable  humour.  Old  Mat  is  admirably  done. 
In  short,  I call  it  a very  remarkable  book,  and  have  been 
very  much  surprised  by  its  great  merit. 

TeU  Kate,  with  my  love,  that  she  will  receive  to-morrow 
in  a little  parcel,  the  complete  proofs  of  Hard  Times.” 
They  will  not  be  corrected,  but  she  will  find  them  pretty 
plain.  I am  just  now  going  to  put  them  up  for  her.  I saw 
Grisi  the  night  before  last  in  Lucrezia  Borgia  ” — finer 
than  ever.  Last  night  I was  drinking  gin-slings  till  day- 
light, with  Buckstone  of  all  people,  who  saw  me  looking  at 
the  Spanish  dancers,  and  insisted  on  being  convivial.  I 
have  been  in  a blaze  of  dissipation  altogether,  and  have 
succeeded  (I  think),  in  knocking  the  remembrance  of  my 
work  out. 

Loves  to  all  the  darlings,  from  the  Plornish-Maroon  up- 
ward. London  is  far  hotter  than  Naples. 

Ever  affectionately. 


{.To  Mrs.  Gaskell.^ 

Villa  du  Camp  de  Droite,  Boulogne, 

Thursday^  Aug.  i"]th^  1854, 

My  dear  Mrs.  Gaskell, 

I sent  your  MS.  off  to  Wills  yesterday,  with  instructions 
to  forward  it  to  you  without  delay.  I hope  you  will  have 
received  it  before  this  notification  comes  to  hand. 

The  usual  festivity  of  this  place  at  present — which  is  the 
blessing  of  soldiers  by  the  ten  thousand — has  just  now 


422 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


been  varied  by  the  baptising  of  some  new  bells,  lately 
hung  up  (to  my  sorrow  and  lunacy)  in  a neighbouring 
church.  An  English  lady  was  godmother  ; and  there  was 
a procession  afterwards,  wherein  an  English  gentleman 
carried  ''  the  relics  ” in  a highly  suspicious  box,  like  a 
barrel  organ  ; and  innumerable  English  ladies  in  white 
gowns  and  bridal  wreaths  walked  two  and  two,  as  if  they 
had  all  gone  to  school  again. 

At  a review,  on  the  same  day,  I was  particularly  struck 
by  the  commencement  of  the  proceedings,  and  its  singular 
contrast  to  the  usual  military  operations  in  Hyde  Park. 
Nothing  could  induce  the  general  commanding  in  chief  to 
begin,  until  chairs  were  brought  for  all  the  lady-spectators. 
And  a detachment  of  about  a hundred  men  deployed  into 
all  manner  of  farmhouses  to  find  the  chairs.  Nobody 
seemed  to  lose  any  dignity  by  the  transaction,  either. 

With  kindest  regards,  my  dear  Mrs.  Gaskell, 

Faithfully  yours  always. 


[ To  Rev.  William  Harness^ 

Villa  du  Camp  de  Droite,  Boulogne, 

Saturday^  Aug.  1854. 

My  dear  Harness, 

Yes.  The  book  came  from  me.  I could  not  put  a 
memorandum  to  that  effect  on  the  title-page,  in  conse- 
quence of  my  being  here. 

I am  heartily  glad  you  like  it.  I know  the  piece  you 
mention,  but  am  far  from  being  convinced  by  it.  A great 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


423 


misgiving  is  upon  me,  that  in  many  things  (this  thing 
among  the  rest)  too  many  are  martyrs  to  our  complacency 
and  satisfaction,  and  that  we  must  give  up  something 
thereof  for  their  poor  sakes. 

My  kindest  regards  to  your  sister,  and  my  love  (if  I may 
send  it)  to  another  of  your  relations. 

Always,  very  faithfully  yours. 


[ To  Mr.  Henry  Austin^ 

/ 

Villa  du  Camp  de  Droite,  Boulogne, 

Wednesday y Sept.  6thy  1854. 

Any  Saturday  on  which  the  tide  serves  your  purpose 
(next  Saturday  excepted)  will  suit  me  for  the  flying  visit 
you  hint  at ; and  we  shall  be  delighted  to  see  you.  Al- 
though the  camp  is  not  above  a mile  from  this  gate,  we 
never  see  or  hear  of  it,  unless  we  choose.  If  you  could 
come  here  in  dry  weather  you  would  find  it  as  pretty,  airy, 
and  pleasant  a situation  as  you  ever  saw.  We  illuminated 
the  whole  front  of  the  house  last  night — eighteen  windows 
— and  an  immense  palace  of  light  was  seen  sparkling  on 
this  hill-top  for  miles  and  miles  away.  I rushed  to  a dis- 
tance to  look  at  it,  and  never  saw  anything  of  the  same 
kind  half  so  pretty. 

The  town  * looks  like  one  immense  flag,  it  is  so  decked 
out  with  streamers  ; and  as  the  royal  yacht  approached 
yesterday — the  whole  range  of  the  cliff  tops  lined  with 


* On  the  occasion  of  the  Prince  Consort’s  visit  to  the  camp  at  Boulogne. 


424 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


troops,  and  the  artillery  matches  in  hand,  all  ready  to  fire 
the  great  guns  the  moment  she  made  the  harbour  ; the 
sailors  standing  up  in  the  prow  of  the*  yacht,  the  Prince  in 
a blazing  uniform,  left  alone  on  the  deck  for  everybody  to 
see — a stupendous  silence,  and  then  such  an  infernal  blaz- 
ing and  banging  as  never  was  heard.  It  was  almost  as  fine 
a sight  as  one  could  see  under  a deep  blue  sky.  In  our 
own  proper  illumination  I laid  on  all  the  servants,  all  the 
children  now  at  home,  all  the  visitors  (it  is  the  annual 
Household  Words  ’’  time),  one  to  every  window,  with 
everything  ready  to  light  up  on  the  ringing  of  a big  din- 
ner-bell by  your  humble  correspondent.  St.  Peter’s  on 
Easter  Monday  was  the  result. 

Best  love  from  all. 

Ever  affectionately. 

[ To  Mr.  W.  Wilkie  Collins.^ 

Boulogne,  Tuesday ^ Sept.  26//^,  1854. 

My  bear  Collins, 

First,  I have  to  report  that  I received  your  letter  with 
much  pleasure. 

Secondly,  that  the  weather  has  entirely  changed.  It  is 
so  cool  that  we  have  not  only  a fire  in  the  drawing-room 
regularly,  but  another  to  dine  by.  The  delicious  freshness 
of  the  air  is  charming,  and  it  is  generally  bright  and  windy 
besides. 

Thirdly,  that ’s  intellectual  faculties  appear  to  have 

developed  suddenly.  He  has  taken  to  borrowing  money  ; 
from  which  I infer  (as  he  has  no  intention  whatever  of  re- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


425 


paying)  that  his  mental  powers  are  of  a high  order.  Hav- 
ing got  a franc  from  me,  he  fell  upon  Mrs.  Dickens  for 
five  sous.  She  declining  to  enter  into  the  transaction,  he 
beleaguered  that  feeble  little  couple,  Harry  and  Sydney, 
into  paying  two  sous  each  for  tickets to  behold  the 
ravishing  spectacle  of  an  utterly-non-existent-and-there- 
fore-impossible-to-be-produced  toy  theatre.  He  eats  stony 
apples,  and  harbours  designs  upon  his  fellow-creatures 
until  he  has  become  light-headed.  From  the  couch  ren- 
dered uneasy  by  this  disorder  he  has  arisen  with  an  exces- 
sively protuberant  forehead,  a dull  slow  eye,  a complexion 
of  a leaden  hue,  and  a croaky  voice.  He  has  become  a 
horror  to  me,  and  I resort  to  the  most  cowardly  expedients 
to  avoid  meeting  him.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  wanting 
another  franc,  dodges  me  round  those  trees  at  the  corner, 
and  at  the  back  door  and  I have  a presentiment  upon 
me  that  I shall  fall  a sacrifice  to  his  cupidity  at  last.. 

On  the  Sunday  night  after  you  left,  or  rather  on  the 
Monday  morning  at  half-past  one,  Mary  was  taken  very  ill, 
English  cholera.  She  was  sinking  so  fast,  and  the  sick- 
ness was  so  exceedingly  alarming,  that  it  evidently  would 
not  do  to  wait  for  Elliotson.  I caused  everything  to  be 
done  that  we  had  naturally  often  thought  of,  in  a lonely 
house  so  full  of  children,  and  fell  back  upon  the  old  rem- 
edy ; though  the  difficulty  of  giving  even  it  was  rendered 
very  great  by  the  frightful  sickness.  Thank  God,  she  re- 
covered so  favourably  that  by  breakfast  time  she  was  fast 
asleep.  She  slept  twenty-four  hours,  and  has  never  had 
the  least  uneasiness  since.  I heard — of  course  afterwards 


426  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


— that  she  had  had  an  attack  of  sickness  two  nights  before. 
I think  that  long  ride  and  those  late  dinners  had  been 
too  much  for  her.  Without  them'I  am  inclined  to  doubt 
whether  she  would  have  been  ill. 

Last  Sunday  as  ever  was,  the  theatre  took  fire  at  half- 
past eleven  in  the  forenoon.  Being  close  by  the  English 
church,  it  showered  hot  sparks  into  that  temple  through 
the  open  windows.  Whereupon  the  congregation  shrieked 

and  rose  and  tumbled  out  into  the  street ; benignly 

observing  to  the  only  ancient  female  who  would  listen  to 
him,  I fear  we  must  part ; ’’  and  afterwards  being  beheld 
in  the  street — in  his  robes  and  with  a kind  of  sacred  wild* 
ness  on  him — handing  ladies  over  the  kennel  into  shops 
and  other  structures,  where  they  had  no  business  whatever, 
or  the  least  desire  to  go.  I got  to  the  back  of  the  theatre, 
where  I could  see  in  through  some  great  doors  that  had 
been  forced  open,  and  whence  the  spectacle  of  the  whole 
interior,  burning  like  a red-hot  cavern,  was  really  very 
fine,  even  in  the  daylight.  Meantime  the  soldiers  were  at 
work,  saving”  the  scenery  by  pitching  it  into  the  next 
street ; and  the  poor  little  properties  (one  spinning-wheel, 
a feeble  imitation  of  a water-mill,  and  a basketful  of  the 
dismalest  artificial  flowers  very  conspicuous)  were  being 
passed  from  hand  to  hand  with  the  greatest  excitement,  as 
if  they  were  rescued  children  or  lovely  women.  In  four 
or  five  hours  the  whole  place  was  burnt  down,  except  the 
outer  walls.  Never  in  my  days  did  I behold  such  feeble 
endeavours  in  the  way  of  extinguishment.  On  an  average 
I should  say  it  took  ten  minutes  to  throw  half  a gallon  of 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  4^7 

water  on  the  great  roaring  heap  ; and  every  time  it  was 
insulted  in  this  way  it  gave  a ferocious  burst,  and  every- 
body ran  off.  Beaucourt  has  been  going  about  for  two 
days  in  a clean  collar  ; which  phenomenon  evidently  means 
something,  but  I don’t  know  what.  Elliotson  reports  that 
the  great  conjuror  lives  at  his  hotel,  has  extra  wine  every 
day,  and  fares  expensively.  Is  he  the  devil  ? 

I have  heard  from  the  Kernel.*  Wa’al,  sir,  sayin’  as  he 
minded  to  locate  himself  with  us  for  a week,  I expected 
to  have  heard  from  him  again  this  morning,  but  have  not. 
Beard  comes  to-morrow. 

Kindest  regards  and  remembrances  from  all.  Ward 
lives  in  a little  street ‘between  the  two  Tintilleries.  The 
Plornish-Maroon  desires  his  duty.  He  had  a fall  yester- 
day, through  overbalancing  himself  in  kicking  his  nurse. 

Ever  faithfully. 

[ To  Mr.  Frank  Stone.,  A.F.A.^ 

Boulogne,  Friday,  Oct.  i2^th,  1854. 

My  dear  Stone, 

Having  some  little  matters  that  rather  press  on  my  at- 
tention to  see  to  in  town,  I have  made  up  my  mind  to  re- 
linquish the  walking  project,  and  come  straight  home  (by 
way  of  Folkestone)  on  Tuesday.  I shall  be  due  in  town  at 
midnight,  and  shall  hope  to  see  you  next  day,  with  the  top 
of  your  coat-collar  mended. 

Everything  that  happens  here  we  suppose  to  be  an  an- 


* Mr.  Egg. 


428  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


nouncement  of  the  taking  of  Sebastopol.  When  a church- 
clock  strikes,  we  think  it  is  the  joy-bell,  and  fly  out  of  the 
house  in  a burst  of  nationality — to  sneak  in  again.  If  they 
practice  firing  at  the  camp,  we  are  sure  it  is  the  artillery 
celebrating  the  fall  of  the  Russian,  and  we  become  en- 
thusiastic in  a moment.  I live  in  constant  readiness  to 
illuminate  the  whole  house.  Whatever  anybody  says  I 
believe  ; everybody  says,  every  day,  that  Sebastopol  is  in 
flames.  Sometimes  the  Commander-in-Chief  has  blown 
himself  up,  with  seventy-five  thousand  men.  Sometimes 
he  has  cut  ’’  his  way  through  Lord  Raglan,  and  has  fallen 
back  on  the  advancing  body  of  the  Russians,  one  hundred 
and  forty- two  thousand  strong,  whom  he  is  going  to  bring 
up  (I  don’t  know  where  from,  or  how,  or  when,  or  why) 
for  the  destruction  of  the  Allies.  All  these  things,  in  the 
words  of  the  catechism,  I steadfastly  believe,”  until  I 
become  a mere  driveller,  a moonstruck,  babbling,  staring, 
credulous,  imbecile,  greedy,  gaping,  wooden-headed,  addle- 
brained,  wool-gathering,  dreary,  vacant,  obstinate  civilian. 

Ever,  my  fellow-countryman,  affectionately. 


\To  Mr,  John  Saunders^ 

Tavistock  House,  October  1854. 

Dear  Sir, 

I have  had  much  gratification  and  pleasure  in  the  re- 
ceipt of  your  obliging  communication.  Allow  me  to  thank 
you  for  it,  in  the  first  place,  with  great  cordiality. 

Although  I cannot  say  that  I came  without  any  prepos- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS 


429 


sessions  to  the  perusal  of  your  play  (for  I had  favourable 
inclinings  towards  it  before  I began),  I can  say  that  I read 
it  with  the  closest  attention,  and  that  it  inspired  me  with  a 
strong  interest,  and  a genuine  and  high  admiration.  The 
parts  that  involve  some  of  the  greatest  difficulties  of  your 
task  appear  to  me  those  in  which  you  shine  most.  I would 
particularly  instance  the  end  of  Julia  as  a very  striking 
example  of  this.  The  delicacy  and  beauty  of  her  redemp- 
tion from  her  weak  rash  lover,  are  very  far  indeed  beyond 
the  range  of  any  ordinary  dramatist,  and  display  the  true 
poetical  strength. 

As  your  hopes  now  centre  in  Mr.  Phelps,  and  in  seeing 
the  child  of  your  fancy  on  his  stage,  I will  venture  to 
point  out  to  you  not  only  what  I take  to  be  very  dangerous 
portions  of  Love’s  Martyrdom  ” as  it  stands  for  presenta- 
tion on  the  stage,  but  portions  which  I believe  Mr.  Phelps 
will  speedily  regard  in  that  light  when  he  sees  it  before 
him  in  the  persons  of  live  men  and  women  on  the  wooden 
boards.  Knowing  him,  I think  he  will  be  then  as  violently 
discouraged  as  he  is  now  generously  exalted  ; and  it  may 
be  useful  to  you  to  be  prepared  for  the  consideration  of 
those  passages. 

I do  not  regard  it  as  a great  stumbling-block  that  the 
play  of  modern  times  best  known  to  an  audience  proceeds 
upon  the  main  idea  of  this,  namely,  that  there  was  a 
hunchback  who,  because  of  his  deformity,  mistrusted  him- 
self. But  it  is  certainly  a grain  in  the  balance  when  the 
balance  is  going  the  wrong  way,  and  therefore  it  should 
be  most  carefully  trimmed.  The  incident  of  the  ring,  is 


430 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


an  insignificant  one  to  look  at  over  a row  of  gaslights,  is 
difficult  to  convey  to  an  audience,  and  the  least  thing  will 
make  it  ludicrous.  If  it  be  so  well  done  by  Mr.  Phelps 
himself  as  to  be  otherwise  than  ludicrous,  it  will  be  dis- 
agreeable. If  it  be  either,  it  will  be  perilous,  and  doubly 
so,  because  you  revert  to  it.  The  quarrel  scene  between 
the  two  brothers  in  the  third  act  is  now  so  long  that  the 
justification  of  blind  passion  and  impetuosity — which  can 
alone  bear  out  Franklyn,  before  the  bodily  eyes  of  a great 
concourse  of  spectators,  in  plunging  at  the  life  of  his  own 
brother — is  lost.  That  the  two  should  be  parted,  and  that 
Franklyn  should  again  drive  at  him,  and  strike  him,  and 
then  wound  him,  is  a state  of  things  to  set  the  sympathy  of 
an  audience  in  the  wrong  direction,  and  turn  it  from  the  man 
you  make  happy  to  the  man  you  leave  unhappy.  I would 
on  no  account  allow  the  artist  to  appear,  attended  by  that 
picture,  more  than  once.  All  the  most  sudden  inconstancy 
of  Clarence  I would  soften  down.  Margaret  must  act 
much  better  than  any  actress  I have  ever  seen,  if  all  her 
lines  fall  in  pleasant  places  ; therefore,  I think  she  needs 
compression  too. 

All  this  applies  solely  to  the  theatre.  If  you  ever  revise 
the  sheets  for  readers,  will  you  note  in  the  margin  the 
broken  laughter  and  the  appeals  to  the  Deity  ? If,  on 
summing  them  up,  you  find  you  want  them  all,  I would 
leave  them  as  they  stand  by  all  means.  If  not,  I would 
blot  accordingly. 

It  is  only  in  the  hope  of  being  slightly  useful  to  you  by 
anticipating  what  I believe  Mr.  Phelps  will  discover — or 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


431 


what,  if  ever  he  should  pass  it,  I have  a strong  conviction 
the  audience  will  find  out — that  I have  ventured  on  these 
few  hints.  Your  concurrence  with  them  generally,  on  re- 
consideration, or  your  preference  for  the  poem  as  it  stands 
can  not  in  the  least  affect  my  interest  in  your  success.  On 
the  other  hand,  I have  a perfect  confidence  in  your  not 
taking  my  misgivings  ill  ; they  arise  out  of  my  sincere 
desire  for  the  triumph  of  your  work. 

With  renewed  thanks  for  the  pleasure  you  have  afforded 
me, 

I am,  dear  Sir,  faithfully  yours. 

[Yh  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready^ 

Tavistock  House,  November  1st,  1854. 

(And  a constitutionally  foggy  day.) 

My  dearest  Macready, 

I thought  it  better  not  to  encumber  the  address  to 
working  men  with  details.  Firstly,  because  they  would 
detract  from  whatever  fiery  effect  the  words  may  have 
in  them  ; secondly,  because  writing  and  petitioning  and 
pressing  a subject  upon  members  and  candidates  are  now 
so  clearly  understood ; and  thirdly,  because  the  paper  was 
meant  as  an  opening  to  persistent  pressure  of  the  whole 
question  on  the  public,  which  would  yield  other  opportuni- 
ties of  touching  on  such  points. 

In  the  number  for  next  week — not  this — is  one  of  those 
following-up  articles  called  Home  Question.”  It  is 
not  written  by  me,  but  is  generally  of  my  suggesting,  and 
is  exceedingly  well  done  by  a thorough  and  experienced 


432 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


hand.  I think  you  will  find  in  it,  generally,  what  you  want. 
I have  told  the  printers  to  send  you  a proof  by  post  as 
soon  as  it  is  corrected — that  is  to  say,  as  soon  as  some 
insertions  I made  in  it  last  night  are  in  type  and  in  their 
places. 

My  dear  old  Parr,  I don’t  believe  a word  you  write 
about  King  John  ! That  is  to  say,  I don’t  believe  you 
take  into  account  the  enormous  difference  between  the 
energy  summonable-up  in  your  study  at  Sherborne  and 
the  energy  that  will  fire  up  in  you  (without  so  much  as 
saying  With  your  leave”  or^^By  your  leave”)  in  the 
Town  Hall  at  Birmingham.  I know  you,  you  ancient 
codger,  I know  you  ! Therefore  I will  trouble  you  to  be 
so  good  as  to  do  an  act  of  honesty  after  you  have  been  to 
Birmingham,  and  to  write  to  me,  Ingenuous  boy,  you 
were  correct.  I find  I could  have  read  ’em  ^ King  John’ 
with  the  greatest  ease.” 

In  that  vast  hall  in  the  busy  town  of  Sherborne,  in 
which  our  illustrious  English  novelist  is  expected  to  read 
next  month — though  he  is  strongly  of  opinion  that  he  is 
deficient  in  power,  and  too  old — I wonder  what  accom- 
modation there  is  for  reading  ! because  our  illustrious 
countryman  likes  to  stand  at  a desk  breast-high,  with 
plenty  of  room  about  him,  a sloping  top,  and  a ledge  to 
keep  his  book  from  tumbling  off.  If  such  a thing  should 
not  be  there,  however,  on  his  arrival,  I suppose  even  a Sher- 
borne carpenter  could  knock  it  up  out  of  a deal  board. 
Is  there  a deal  board  in  Sherborne  though  ? I should 
like  to  hear  Katey’s  opinion  on  that  point. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS,  433 

In  this  week’s  Household  Words  ” there  is  an  exact 
portrait  of  our  Boulogne  landlord,  which  I hope  you  will 
like.  I think  of  opening  the  next  long  book  I write  with 
a man  of  juvenile  figure  and  strong  face,  who  is  always 
persuading  himself  that  he  is  infirm.  What  do  you  think 
of  the  idea  ? I should  like  to  have  your  ojDinion  about  it. 
I would  make  him  an  impetuous  passionate  sort  of  fellow, 
devilish  grim  upon  occasion,  and  of  an  iron  purpose.  Droll, 
I fancy  ? 

is  getting  a little  too  fat,  but  appears  to  be  troubled 

by  the  great  responsibility  of  directing  the  whole  war.  He 
doesn’t  seem  to  be  quite  clear  that  he  has  got  the  ships 
into  the  exact  order  he  intended,  on  the  sea  point  of  at- 
tack at  Sebastopol.  We went  to  the  play  last  Saturday 
night  with  Stanfield,  whose  high  lights  ” (as  Maclise  calls 
those  knobs  of  brightness  on  the  top  of  his  cheeks)  were 
more  radiant  than  ever.  We  talked  of  you,  and  I told 
Stanny  how  they  are  imitating  his  Acis  and  Galatea  ” 
sea  in  Pericles,”  at  Phelps’s.  He  didn’t  half  like  it  ; 
but  I added,  in  nautical  language,  that  it  was  merely  a 
piratical  effort  achieved  by  a handful  of  porpoise-faced 
swabs,  and  that  brought  him  up  with  a round  turn,  as  we 
say  at  sea. 

We  are  looking  forward  to  the  twentieth  of  next  month 
with  great  pleasure.  All  Tavistock  House  send  love  and 
kisses  to  all  Sherborne  House.  If  there  is  anything  I can 
•bring  down  for  you,  let  me  know  in  good  course  of  time. 

Ever,  my  dearest  Macready, 

Most  affectionately  yours. 


VoL.  I. — 19 


434 


LETTERS  dF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


iTo  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson.^ 

Tavistock  House,  Wednesday,  Nov.  1st,  1854, 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

I take  upon  myself  to  answer  your  letter  to  Catherine, 
as  I am  referred  to  in  it. 

The  Walk  is  not  my  writing.  It  is  very  well  done 
by  a close  imitator.  Why  I found  myself  so  used  up  ” 
after  Hard  Times  ’’  I scarcely  know^  perhaps  because  I 
intended  to  do  nothing  in  that  way  for  a year,  when  the 
idea  laid  hold  of  me  by  the  throat  in  a very  violent  man- 
ner, and  because  the  compression  and  close  condensation 
necessary  for  that  disjointed  form  of  publication  gave  me 
perpetual  trouble.  But  I really  was  tired,  which  is  a re- 
sult so  very  incomprehensible  that  I can’t  forget  it.  I 
have  passed  an  idle  autumn  in  a beautiful  situation,  and 
am  dreadfully  brown  and  big.  For  further  particulars  of 
Boulogne,  see  Our  French  Watering  Place,”  in  this  pres- 
ent week  of  Household  Words,”  which  contains  a faith= 
ful  portrait  of  our  landlord  there. 

If  you  carry  out  that  bright  Croydon  idea,  rely  on  our 
glad  co-operation,  only  let  me  know  all  about  it  a few  days 
beforehand  ; and  if  you  feel  equal  to  the  contemplation 
of  the  moustache  (which  has  been  cut  lately)  it  will  give 
us  the  heartiest  pleasure  to  come  and  meet  you.  This  in 
spite  of  the  terrific  duffery  of  the  Crystal  Palace.  It  is  a. 
very  remarkable  thing  in  itself  ; but  to  have  so  very  large 
a building  continually  crammed  down  one’s  throat,  and  to 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


435 


find  it  a new  page  in  The  Whole  Duty  of  Man  ” to  go 
there,  is  a little  more  than  even  I (and  you  know  how 
amiable  I am)  can  endure. 

You  always  like  to  know  what  I am  going  to  do,  so  I 
beg  to  announce  that  on  the  19th  of  December  I am  going 
to  read  the  Carol  ” at  Reading,  where  I undertook  the 
presidency  of  the  Literary  Institution  on  the  death  of  poor 
dear  Talfourd.  Then  I am  going  on  to  Sherborne,  in  Dor- 
setshire, to  do  the  like  for  another  institution,  which  is  one 
of  the  few  remaining  pleasures  of  Macready’s  life.  Then 
I am  coming  home  for  Christmas  Day.  Then  I believe  I 
must  go  to  Bradford,  in  Yorkshire,  to  read  once  more  to  a 
little  fireside  party  of  four  thousand.  Then  I am  coming 
home  again  to  get  up  a new  little  version  of  The  Children 
in  the  Wood  ” (yet  to  be  written,  by-the-by),  for  the  chil- 
dren to  act  on  Charley’s  birthday. 

I am  full  of  mixed  feeling  about  the  war — admiration  of 
our  valiant  men,  burning  desires  to  cut  the  Emperor  of 
Russia’s  throat,  and  something  like  despair  to  see  how  the 
old  cannon-smoke  and  blood-mists  obscure  the  wrongs  and 
sufferings  of  the  people  at  home.  When  I consider  the 
Patriotic  Fund  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  the  pov- 
erty and  wretchedness  engendered  by  cholera,  of  which 
in  London  alone,  an  infinitely  larger  number  of  English 
people  than  are  likely  to  be  slain  in  the  whole  Russian  war 
have  miserably  and  needlessly  died — I feel  as  if  the  world 
had  been  pushed  back  five  hundred  years.  If  you  are 
reading  new  books  just  now,  I think  you  will  be  interested 
with  a controversy  between  Whewell  and  Brewster,  on  the 


436  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


question  of  the  shining  orbs  about  us  being  inhabited  or  no. 
Whewell’s  book  is  called,  “ On  the  Plurality  of  Worlds  ; ” 
Brewster’s,  More  Worlds  than  One.”  I shouldn’t  won- 
der if  you  know  all  about  them.  They  bring  together  a 
vast  number  of  points  of  great  interest  in  natural  phi- 
losophy, and  some  very  curious  reasoning  on  both  sides, 
and  leave  the  matter  pretty  much  where  it  was. 

We  had  a fine  absurdity  in  connection  with  our  luggage, 
Avhen  we  left  Boulogne.  The  barometer  had  within  a few 
hours  fallen  about  a foot,  in  honour  of  the  occasion,  and  it 
was  a tremendous  night,  blowing  a gale  of  wind  and  rain- 
ing a little  deluge.  The  luggage  (pretty  heavy,  as  you 
may  suppose),  in  a cart  drawn  by  two  horses,  stuck  fast  in 
a rut  in  our  field,  and  couldn’t  be  moved.  Our  man,  made 
a lunatic  by  the  extremity  of  the  occasion,  ran  down  to  the 
town  to  get  two  more  horses  to  help  it  out,  when  he  re- 
turned with  those  horses  and  carter  B,  the  most  beaming 
of  men ; carter  A,  who  had  been  soaking  all  the  time  by 
the  disabled  vehicle,  descried  in  carter  B the  acknowledged 
enemy  of  his  existence,  took  his  own  two  horses  out,  and 
walked  off  with  them  ! After  which,  the  whole  set-out  re- 
mained in  the  field  all  night,  and  we  came  to  town,  thirteen 
individuals,  with  one  comb  and  a pocket-handkerchief.  I 
was  upside  down  during  the  greater  part  of  the  passage. 

Dr.  Rae’s  account  of  Franklin’s  unfortunate  party  is 
deeply  interesting  ; but  I think  hasty  in  its  acceptance  of 
details,  particularly  in  the  statement  that  they  had  eaten 
the  dead  bodies  of  their  companions,  which  I don’t  believe. 
Franklin,  on  a former  occasion,  was  almost  starved  to  death. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


437 


had  gone  tliroiigh  all  the  pains  of  that  sad  end,  and  lain 
down  to  die,  and  no  such  thought  had  presented  itself  to 
any  of  them.  In  famous  cases  of  shipwreck,  it  is  very  rare 
indeed  that  any  person  of  any  humanising  education  or  re- 
finement resorts  to  this  dreadful  means  of  prolonging  life. 
In  open  boats,  the  coarsest  and  commonest  men  of  the 
shipwrecked  party  have  done  such  things  ; but  I don’t  re- 
member more  than  one  instance  in  which  an  officer  had 
overcome  the  loathing  that  the  idea  had  inspired.  Dr.  Rae 
talks  about  their  cooking  these  remains  too.  I should  like 
to  know  where  the  fuel  came  from. 

Kindest  love  and  best  regards. 

Ever,  my  dear  Mrs.  Watson,  affectionately  yours. 


[7b  Mr.  Clarkson  Stanfield^  R.A.\ 

Tavistock  House,  Friday  Night,  Nov.  2>rd,  1854. 
My  dear  Stanny, 

First  of  all,  here  is  enclosed  a letter  for  Mrs.  Stanfield, 
which,  if  you  don’t  immediately  and  faithfully  deliver,  you 
will  hear  of  in  an  unpleasant  way  from  the  station-house  at 
the  curve  of  the  hill  above  you. 

Secondly,  this  is  not  to  remind  you  that  we  meet  at  the 
Athenaeum  next  Monday  at  five,  because  none  but  a mouldy 
swab  as  never  broke  biscuit  or  lay  out  on  the  for’sel-yard- 
arm  in  a gale  of  wind  ever  forgot  an  appointment  with  a 
messmate. 

But  what  I want  you  to  think  of  at  your  leisure  is  this  : 
when  our  dear  old  Macready  was  in  town  last,  I saw  it 


43 8 LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


would  give  him  so  much  interest  and  pleasure  if  I prom- 
ised to  go  down  and  read  my  Christmas  Carol  ” to  the 
little  Sherborne  Institution,  which  is  now  one  of  the  few 
active  objects  he  has  in  the  life  about  him,  that  I came 
out  with  that  promise  in  a bold— I may  say  a swaggering 
way.  Consequently,  on  Wednesday,  the  20th  of  Decem- 
ber, I am  going  down  to  see  him,  with  Kate  and  Geor- 
gina, returning  to  town  in  good  time  for  Christmas,  on 
Saturday,  the  23rd.  Do  you  think  you  could  manage  to 
go  and  return  with  us  ? I really  believe  there  is  scarcely 
anything  in  the  world  that  would  give  him  such  extraor- 
dinary pleasure  as  such  a visit  ; and  if  you  would  em- 
power me  to  send  him  an  intimation  that  he  may  expect 
it,  he  will  have  a daily  joy  in  looking  forward  to  the 
time  (I  am  seriously  sure)  which  we — whose  light  has  not 
gone  out,  and  who  are  among  our  old  dear  pursuits  and 
associations — can  scarcely  estimate. 

I don’t  like  to  broach  the  idea  in  a careless  way,  and  so 
I propose  it  thus,  and  ask  you  to  think  of  it. 

Ever  most  affectionately  yours. 


[7h  Miss  Procter i\ 

Tavistock  House,  Sunday,  Dec.  i^th,  1854. 
My  dear  Miss  Procter, 

You  have  given  me  a new  sensation.  I did  suppose 
that  nothing  in  this  singular  world  could  surprise  me,  but 
you  have  done  it. 

You  will  believe  my  congratulations  on  the  delicacy  and 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


439 


talent  of  your  writing  to  be  sincere.  From  the  first,  I have 
always  had  an  especial  interest  in  that  Miss  Berwick,  and 
have  over  and  over  again  questioned  Wills  about  her.  I 
suppose  he  has  gone  on  gradually  building  up  an  imagin- 
ary structure  of  life  and  adventure  for  her,  but  he  has 
given  me  the  strangest  information  ! Only  yesterday  week, 
when  we  were  ^‘making  up  The  Poor  Travellers,”  as  I 
sat  meditatively  poking  the  office  fire,  I said  to  him,  Wills, 
have  you  got  that  Miss  Berwick’s  proof  back,  of  the  little 
sailor’s  song  ? ” No,”  he  said.  Well,  but  why  not  ? ” 
I asked  him.  Why,  you  know,”  he  answered,  “ as  I have 
often  told  you  before,  she  don’t  live  at  the  place  to  which 
her  letters  are  addressed,  and  so  there’s  always  difficulty 
and  delay  in  communicating  with  her.”  Do  you  know 
what  age  she  is  ? ” I said.  Here  he  looked  unfathom- 
ably  profound,  and  returned,  ‘^Rather  advanced  in  life,” 
You  said  she  was  a governess,  didn’t  you  ? ” said  I ; to 
which  he  replied  in  the  most  emphatic  and  positive  man- 
ner, A governess.” 

He  then  came  and  stood  in  the  corner  of  the  hearth, 
with  his  back  to  the  fire,  and  delivered  himself  like  an 
oracle  concerning  you.  He  told  me  that  early  in  life  (con- 
veying  to  me  the  impression  of  about  a quarter  of  a cen- 
tury ago)  you  had  had  your  feelings  desperately  wounded 
by  some  cause,  real  or  imaginary — ''  It  does  not  matter 
which,”  said  I,  with  the  greatest  sagacity — and  that  you 
had  then  taken  to  writing  verses.  That  you  were  of  an 
unhappy  temperament,  but  keenly  sensitive  to  encourage- 
ment. That  you  wrote  after  the  educational  duties  of  the 


440 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


day  were  discharged.  That  you  sometimes  thought  of 
never  writing  any  more.  That  you  had  been  away  for 
some  time  ^^with  your  pupils.'’  That  your  letters  were  of 
a mild  and  melancholy  character,  and  that  you  did  not 
seem  to  care  as  much  as  might  be  expected  about  money. 
All  this  time  I sat  poking  the  fire,  with  a wisdom  upon  me 
absolutely  crushing ; and  finally  I begged  him  to  assure 
the  lady  that  she  might  trust  me  with  her  real  address,  and 
that  it  would  be  better  to  have  it  now,  as  I hoped  our 
further  communications,  etc.  etc.  etc.  You  must  have 
felt  enormously  wicked  last  Tuesday,  when  I,  such  a babe 
in  the  wood,  was  unconsciously  prattling  to  you.  But  you 
have  given  me  so  much  pleasure,  and  have  made  me  shed 
so  many  tears,  that  I can  only  think  of  you  now  in  associa- 
tion with  the  sentiment  and  grace  of  your  verses. 

So  pray  accept  the  blessing  and  forgiveness  of  Richard 
Watts,  though  I am  afraid  you  come  under  both  his  con- 
ditions of  exclusion.”^ 

Very  faithfully  yours. 

1855- 

NARRATIVE. 

In  the  beginning  of  this  year,  Charles  Dickens  gave 
public  readings  at  Reading,  Sherborne,  and  Bradford  in 
Yorkshire,  to  which  reference  is  made  in  the  first  follow- 
ing letters.  Besides  this,  he  was  fully  occupied  in  getting 
up  a play  for  his  children,  which  was  acted  on  the  6th 

♦ The  inscription  on  the  house  in  Rochester  known  as  “ Watts’s  Charity  ” is  to 
the  effect  that  it  furnishes  a night’s  lodging  for  six  poor  travellers — “not  being 
Rogues  or  Proctors.” 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


441 


January.  Mr.  Planche’s  fairy  extravaganza  of  Fortunio 
and  his  Seven  Gifted  Servants  was  the  play  selected,  the 
parts  being  filled  by  all  his  own  children  and  some  of  their 
young  friends,  and  Charles  Dickens,  Mr.  Mark  Lemon,  and 
Mr.  Wilkie  Collins  pJaying  with  them,  the  only  grown-up 
members  of  the  company.  In  February  he  made  a short 
trip  to  Paris  with  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins,  with  an  intention  of 
going  on  to  Bordeaux,  which  was  abandoned  on  account 
of  bad  weather.  Out  of  the  success  of  the  children’s  play 
at  Tavistock  House  ros.e  a scheme  for  a serious  play  at  the 
same  place.  Mr.  Collins  undertaking  to  write  a melodrama 
for  the  purpose,  and  Mr.  Stanfield  to  paint  scenery  and 
drop-scene,  Charles  Dickens  turned  one  of  the  rooms  of  the 
house  into  a very  perfect  little  theatre,  and  in  June  The 
Lighthouse  ” was  acted  for  three  nights,  with  “ Mr.  Night- 
ingale’s Diary  ” and  Animal  Magnetism  ” as  farces  ; the 
actors  being  himself  and  several  members  of  the  original 
amateur  company,  the  actresses,  his  two  daughters  and  his 
sister-in-law.  Mr.  Stanfield,  after  entering  most  heartily 
into  the  enterprise,  and  giving  constant  time  and  attention 
to  the  painting  of  his  beautiful  scenes,  was  unfortunately 
ill  and  unable  to  attend  the  first  performance.  We  give  a 
letter  to  him,  reporting  its  great  success. 

In  this  summer  Charles  Dickens  made  a speech  at  a 
great  meeting  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre  on  the  subject  of 
^‘Administrative  Reform,”  of  which  he  writes  to  Mr. 
Macready.  On  this  subject  of  “ Administrative  Reform,” 
too,  we  give  two  letters  to  the  great  Nineveh  traveller 
Mr.  Layard  (now  Sir  Austen  H.  Layard),  for  whom,  as  his 
letters  show,  he  conceived  at  once  the  affectionate  friend- 
ship which  went  on  increasing  from  this  time  for  the  rest 
of  his  life.  Mr.  Layard  also  spoke  at  the  Drury  Lane 
meeting. 

Charles  Dickens  had  made  a promise  to  give  another 
VoL.  I. — 19* 


442 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


reading  at  Birmingham  for  the  funds  of  the  institute  which 
still  needed  help  ; and  in  a letter  to  Mr.  Arthur  Ryland, 
asking  him  to  fix  a time  for  it,  he  gives  the  first  idea  of  a 
selection  from  David  Copperfield,’'  which  was  afterwards 
one  of  the  most  popular  of  his  readings. 

He  was  at  all  times  fond  of  making  excursions  for  a day 
— or  two  or  three  days — to  Rochester  aud  its  neighbour- 
hood ; and  after  one  of  these,  this  year,  he  writes  to 
Mr.  Wills  that  he  has  seen  a small  freehold  ” to  be  sold, 
opposite  the  house  on  which  he  had  fixed  his  childish  affec- 
tions (and  which  he  calls  in  this  letter  the  Hermitage,” 
its  real  name  being  Gad’s  Hill  Place  ”).  The  latter  house 
was  not,  at  that  time,  to  be  had,  and  he  made  som.e  approach 
to  negotiations  as  to  the  other  little  freehold,”  which, 
however,  did  not  come  to  anything.  Later  in  the  year, 
however,  Mr.  Wills,  by  an  accident,  discovered  that  Gad’s 
Hill  Place,  the  property  of  Miss  Lynn,  the  well-known 
authoress,  and  a constant  contributor  to  Household 
Words,”  was  itself  for  sale  ; and  a negotiation  for  its  pur- 
chase commenced,  which  was  not,  however,  completed 
until  the  following  spring. 

Later  in  the  year,  the  performance  of  The  Lighthouse  ” 
was  repeated,  for  a charitable  purpose,  at  the  Campden 
House  theatre. 

This  autumn  was  passed  at  Folkestone.  Charles  Dickens 
had  decided  upon  spending  the  following  winter  in  Paris, 
and  the  family  proceeded  there  from  Folkestone  in  Octo- 
ber, making  a halt  at  Boulogne  ; from  whence  his  sister- 
in-law  preceded  the  party  to  Paris,  to  secure  lodgings, 
with  the  help  of  Lady  Olliffe.  He  followed,  to  make  his 
choice  of  apartments  that  had  been  found,  and  he  writes 
to  his  wife  and  to  Mr.  Wills,  giving  a description  of  the 
Paris  house.  Here  he  began  Little  Dorrit.”  In  a let- 
ter to  Mrs.  Watson,  from  Folkestone,  he  gives  her  the 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


443 


name  which  he  had  first  proposed  for  this  story — No- 
body’s Fault/' 

During  his  absence  from  England,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ho- 
garth occupied  Tavistock  House,  and  his  eldest  son,  being 
now  engaged  in  business,  remained  with  them,  coming  to 
Paris  only  for  Christmas,  Three  of  his  boys  were  at  school 
at  Boulogne  at  this  time,  and  one,  Walter  Landor,  at  Wim- 
bledon, studying  for  an  Indian  army  appointment. 


[7h  M,  de  Cerjat^ 

Tavistock  House,  Jantmry  yd,  1855. 

My  dear  Cerjat, 

When  your  Christmas  letter  did  not  arrive  according  to 
custom,  I felt  as  if  a bit  of  Christmas  had  fallen  out  and 
there  was  no  supplying  the  piece.  However,  it  was  soon 
supplied  by  yourself,  and  the  bowl  became  round  and 
sound  again. 

The  Christmas  number  of  Household  Words,”  I sup- 
pose, will  reach  Lausanne  about  midsummer.  The  first 
ten  pages  or  so — all  under  the  head  of  The  First  Poor 
Traveller” — are  written  by  me,  and  I hope  you  will  find, 
in  the  story  of  the  soldier  which  they  contain,  something 
that  may  move  you  a little.  It  moved  me  not  a little  in 
the  writing,  and  I believe  has  touched  a vast  number  of 
people.  We  have  sold  eighty  thousand  of  it. 

I am  but  newly  come  home  from  reading  at  Reading 
(where  I succeeded  poor  Talfourd  as  the  president  of  an 
institution),  and  at  Sherborne,  in  Dorsetshire,  and  at  Brad- 
ford, in  Yorkshire.  Wonderful  audiences  ! and  the  num- 


444 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


ber  at  the  last  place  three  thousand  seven  hundred.  And 
yet  but  for  the  noise  of  their  laughing  and  cheering,  they 

went  like  one  man. 

The  absorption  of  the  English  mind  in  the  war  is,  to  me, 
a melancholy  thing.  Every  other  subject  of  popular  soli- 
citude and  sympathy  goes  down  before  it.  I fear  I clearly 
see  that  for  years  to  come  domestic  reforms  are  shaken  to 
the  root  ; every  miserable  red-tapist  flourishes  war  over 
the  head  of  every  protester  against  his  humbug  ; and 
everything  connected  with  it  is  pushed  to  such  an  un- 
reasonable extent,  that,  however  kind  and  necessary  it  may 
be  in  itself,  it  becomes  ridiculous.  For  all  this  it  is  an 
indubitable  fact,  I conceive,  that  Russia. must  be  stopped, 
and  that  the  future  peace  of  the  world  renders  the  war  im- 
perative upon  us.  The  Duke  of  Newcastle  lately  addressed 
a private  letter  to  the  newspapers,  entreating  them  to  exer- 
cise a larger  discretion  in  respect  of  the  letters  of  “ Our 
Own  Correspondents,'’  against  which  Lord  Raglan  protests 
as  giving  the  Emperor  of  Russia  information  for  nothing 
which  would  cost  him  (if  indeed  he  could  get  it  at  all)  fifty 
or  a hundred  thousand  pounds  a year.  The  communica- 
tion has  not  been  attended  with  much  effect,  so  far  as  I 
can  see.  In  the  meantime  I do  suppose  we  have  the 
wretchedest  Ministry  that  ever  was — in  whom  nobody  not 
in  office  of  some  sort  believes — yet  whom  there  is  nobody 
to  displace.  The  strangest  result,  perhaps,  of  years  of 
Reformed  Parliaments  that  ever  the  general  sagacity  did 
not  foresee. 

Let  me  recommend  you,  as  a brother-reader  of  high  dis- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


445 


tinction,  two  comedies,  both  Goldsmith’s — “ She  Stoops  to 
Conquer  ” and  The  Good-natured  Man.”  Both  are  so 
admirable  and  so  delightfully  written  that  they  read 
wonderfully.  A friend  of  mine,  Forster,  who  wrote  ^^The 
Life  of  Goldsmith,”  was  very  ill  a year  or  so  ago,  and 
begged  me  to  read  to  him  one  night  as  he  lay  in  bed, 
^‘something  of  Goldsmith’s.”  I fell  upon  ‘‘She  Stoops  to 
Conquer,”  and  we  enjoyed  it  with  that  wonderful  inten- 
sity, that  I believe  he  began  to  get  better  in  the  first  scene, 
and  was  all  right  again  in  the  fifth  act. 

I am  charmed  by  your  account  of  Haldimand,  to  whom 
my  love.  Tell  him  Sydney  Smith’s  daughter  has  privately 
printed  a life  of  her  father  with  selections  from  his  letters, 
which  has  great  merit,  and  often  presents  him  exactly  as 
he  used  to  be.  I have  strongly  urged  her  to  publish  it, 
and  I think  she  will  do  so,  about  March. 

My  eldest  boy  has  come  home  from  Germany  to  learn 
a business  life  at  Birmingham  (I  think),  first  of  all.  The 
whole  nine  are  well  and  happy.  Ditto,  Mrs.  Dickens. 
Ditto,  Georgina.  My  two  girls  are  full  of  interest  in  yours  ; 
and  one  of  mine  (as  I think  I told  you  when  I was  at 
Elysee)  is  curiously  like  one  of  yours  in  the  face.  They 
are  all  agog  now  about  a great  fairy  play,  which  is  to  come 
off  here  next  Monday.  The  house  is  full  of  spangles,  gas, 
Jew  theatrical  tailors,  and  pantomime  carpenters.  We  all 
unite  in  kindest  and  best  loves  to  dear  Mrs.  Cerjat,  and  all 
the  blooming  daughters.  And  I am,  with  frequent  thoughts 
of  you  and  cordial  affection,  ever,  my  dear  Cerjat, 

Your  faithful  Friend. 


44^  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


\To  Miss  Mary  Boyle?[ 

Tavistock  House,  January  ‘xrd,  1855. 

My  dear  Mary, 

This  is  a word  of  heartfelt  greeting,  in  exchange  for 
yours,  which  came  to  me  most  pleasantly,  and  was  re- 
ceived with  a cordial  welcome.  If  I had  leisure  to  write 
a letter,  I should  write  you,  at  this  point,  perhaps  the  very 
best  letter  that  ever  was  read  ; but,  being  in  the  agonies 
of  getting  up  a gorgeous  fairy  play  for  the  postboys,  on 
Charley’s  birthday  (besides  having  the  work  of  half-a- 
dozen  to  do  as  a regular  thing),  I leave  the  merits  of  the 
wonderful  epistle  to  your  lively  fancy. 

Enclosing  a kiss,  if  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  return 
it  when  done  with. 

I have  just  been  reading  my  Christmas  Carol  ” in 
Yorkshire.  I should  have  lost  my  heart  to  the  beautiful 
young  landlady  of  my  hotel  (age  twenty-nine,  dress,  black 
frock  and  jacket,  exquisitely  braided)  if  it  had  not  been 
safe  in  your  possession. 

Many,  many  happy  years  to  you  ! My  regards  to  that 
obstinate  old  Wurzell  * and  his  dame,  when  you  have  them 
under  lock  and  key  again. 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 

[To  Mrs,  Gaskell.'] 

Tavistock  House,  January  27M,  1855. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Gaskell, 

Let  me  congratulate  you  on  the  conclusion  of  your 


* Captain  Cavendish  Boyle  was  governor  of  the  military  prison  at  Weedon. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


447 


Story  ; not  because  it  is  the  end  of  a task  to  which  you 
had  conceived  a dislike  (for  I imagine  you  to  have  got  the 
better  of  that  delusion  by  this  time),  but  because  it  is  the 
vigorous  and  powerful  accomplishment  of  an  anxious 
labour.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  have  felt  the  ground 
thoroughly  firm  under  your  feet,  and  have  strided  on  with 
a force  and  purpose  that  must  now  give  you  pleasure. 

You  will  not,  I hope,  allow  that  not-lucid  interval  of 
dissatisfaction  with  yourself  (and  me?),  which  beset  you 
for  a minute  or  two  once  upon  a time,  to  linger  in  the 
shape  of  any  disagreeable  association  with  “ Household 
Words.”  I shall  still  look  forward  to  the  large  sides  of 
paper,  and  shall  soon  feel  disappointed  if  they  don’t  be- 
gin to  reappear. 

I thought  it  best  that  Wills  should  write  the  business 
letter  on  the  conclusion  of  the  story,  as  that  part  of  our 
communications  had  always  previously  rested  with  him. 
I trust  you  found  it  satisfactory  ? I refer  to  it,  not  as  a 
matter  of  mere  form,  but  because  I sincerely  wish  every- 
thing between  us  to  be  beyond  the  possibility  of  misunder- 
standing or  reservation. 

Dear  Mrs.  Gaskell,  very  faithfully  yours. 

[7b  Mr.  Arthur  Ryland.^ 

Tavistock  House,  Monday,  Jan.  2(^th,  1855. 
My  dear  Mr.  Ryland, 

I have  been  in  the  greatest  difficulty — which  I am  not 
yet  out  of — to  know  what  to  read  at  Birmingham.  I fear 


448 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


the  idea  of  next  month  is  now  impracticable.  Which  of 
two  other  months  do  you  think  would  be  preferable  for 
your  Birmingham  objects  ? Next  May,  or  next  December  ? 

Having  already  read  two  Christmas  books  at  Birming- 
ham, I should  like  to  get  out  of  that  restriction,  and  have 
a swim  in  the  broader  waters  of  one  of  my  long  books.  I 
have  been  poring  over  “ Copperfield  (which  is  my  fa- 
vourite), with  the  idea  of  getting  a reading  out  of  it,  to  be 
called  by  some  such  name  as  Young  Housekeeping  and 
Little  Emily.’'  But  there  is  still  the  huge  difficulty  that  I 
constructed  the  whole  with  immense  pains,  and  have  so 
woven  it  up  and  blended  it  together,  that  I cannot  yet  so 
separate  the  parts  as  to  tell  the  story  of  David’s  married 
life  with  Dora,  and  the  story  of  Mr.  Peggptty’s  search  for 
his  niece,  within  the  time.  This  is  my  object.  If  I could 
possibly  bring  it  to  bear,  it  would  make  a very  attractive 
reading,  with  a strong  interest  in  it,  and  a certain  com- 
pleteness. 

This  is  exactly  the  state  of  the  case.  I don’t  mind  con- 
fiding to  you,  that  I never  can  approach  the  book  with 
perfect  composure  (it  had  such  perfect  possession  of  me 
when  I wrote  it),  and  that  I no  sooner  begin  to  try  to  get 
it  into  this  form,  than  I begin  to  read  it  all,  and  to  feel 
that  I cannot  disturb  it.  I have  not  been  unmindful  of 
the  agreement  we  made  at  parting,  and  I have  sat  staring 
at  the  backs  of  my  books  for  an  inspiration.  This  project 
is  the  only  one  that  I have  constantly  reverted  to,  and  yet 
I have  made  no  progress  in  it  ! 


Faithfully  yours  always. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


449 


\To  Monsieur  Regnieri] 

Tavistock  House,  London,  Saturday  Evening,  Feb,  2>rd,  1855. 
My  dear  Regnier, 

I am  coming  to  Paris  for  a week,  with  my  friend  Collins 
— son  of  the  English  painter  who  painted  our  green  lanes 
and  our  cottage  children  so  beautifully.  Do  not  tell  this 
to  Le  Vieux.  Unless  I have  the  ill  fortune  to  stumble 
against  him  in  the  street  I shall  not  make  my  arrival 
known  to  him. 

I purpose  leaving  here  on  Sunday,  the  nth,  but  I shall 
stay  that  night  at  Boulogne  to  see  two  of  my  little  boys 
who  are  at  the  school  there.  We  shall  come  to  Paris  on 
Monday,  the  12  th,  arriving  there  in  the  evening. 

Now,  mon  cher,  do  you  think  you  can,  without  inconven- 
ience, engage  me  for  a week  an  apartment — cheerful, 
light,  and  wholesome — containing  a comfortable  salon  et 
deux  chambres  a coucher.  I do  not  care  whether  it  is  an 
hotel  or  not,  but  the  reason  why  I do  not  write  for  an 
apartment  to  the  Hotel  Brighton  is,  that  there  they  expect 
one  to  dine  at  home  (I  mean  in  the  apartment)  generally  ; 
whereas,  as  we  are  coming  to  Paris  expressly  to  be  always 
looking  about  us,  we  want  to  dine  wherever  we  like  every 
day.  Consequently,  what  we  want  to  find  is  a good  apart- 
ment, where  we  can  have  our  breakfast  but  where  we  shall 
never  dine. 

Can  you  engage  such  accommodation  for  me  ? If  you 
can,  I shall  feel  very  much  obliged  to  you.  If  the  apart- 
ment should  happen  to  contain  a little  bed  for  a servant  I 


450 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


might  perhaps  bring  one,  but  I do  not  care  about  that  at 
all.  I want  it  to  be  pleasant  and  gay,  and  to  throw  my- 
self en  gar^on  on  the  festive  diahleries  de  Paris. 

Mrs.  Dickens  and  her  sister  send  their  kindest  regards 
to  Madame  Regnier  and  you,  in  which  I heartily  join.  All 
the  children  send  their  loves  to  the  two  brave  boys  and 
the  Normandy  bonnes. 

I shall  hope  for  a short  answer  from  you  one  day  next 
week.  My  dear  Regnier, 

Always  faithfully  yours. 


iToMr.  W.H.  Wills?^ 

Office  of  “ Household  Words,”  Friday,  Feb.  gth,  1855. 
My  dear  Wills, 

I want  to  alter  the  arrangements  for  to-morrow,  and  put 
you  to  some  inconvenience. 

When  I was  at  Gravesend  t’other  day,  I saw,  at  Gad’s 
Hill — just  opposite  to  the  Hermitage,  where  Miss  Lynn 
used  to  live — a little  freehold  to  be  sold.  The  spot  and 
the  very  house  are  literally  a dream  of  my  childhood,” 
and  I should  like  to  look  at  it  before  I go  to  Paris.  With 
that  purpose  I must  go  to  Strood  by  the  North  Kent, 
at  a quarter-past  ten  to-morrow  morning,  and  I want  you, 
strongly  booted,  to  go  with  me  ! (I  know  the  particulars 
from  the  agent.) 

Can  you  ? Let  me  know.  If  you  can,  can  you  manage 
so  that  we  can  take  the  proofs  with  us  ? If  you  can’t,  will 
you  bring  them  to  Tavistock  House  at  dinner  time  to- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


451 


morrow,  half-past  five  ? Forster  will  dine  with  us,  but  no 
one  else. 

I am  uncertain  of  your  being  in  town  to-night,  but  I 
send  John  up  with  this.  Ever  faithfully. 

\To  Miss  HogarthP^ 

HCtel  Meurice,  Paris,  Friday ^ Feb.  i6t/i,  1855. 
My  dear  Georgy, 

I heard  from  home  last  night  ; but  the  posts  are  so  de- 
layed and  put  out  by  the  snow,  that  they  come  in  at  all 
sorts  of  times  except  the  right  times,  and  utterly  defy  all 
calculation.  Will  you  tell  Catherine  with  my  love,  that  I 
will  write  to  her  again  to-morrow  afternoon  ; I hope  she 
may  then  receive  my  letter  by  Monday  morning,  and  in  it 
I purpose  telling  when  I may  be  expected  home.  The 
weather  is  so  severe  and  the  roads  are  so  bad,  that  the 
journey  to  and  from  Bordeaux  seems  out  of  the  question. 
We  have  made  up  our  minds  to  abandon  it  for  the  present, 
and  to  return  about  Tuesday  night  or  Wednesday.  Collins 
continues  in  a queer  state,  but  is  perfectly  cheerful  under 
the  stoppage  of  his  wine  and  other  afflictions. 

We  have  a beautiful  apartment,  very  elegantly  furnished, 
very  thickly  carpeted,  and  as  warm  as  any  apartment  in 
Paris  can  be  in  such  weather.  We  are  very  well  waited  on 
and  looked  after.  We  breakfast  at  ten,  read  and  write  till 
two,  and  then  I go  out  walking  all  over  Paris,  while  the 
invalid  sits  by  the  fire  or  is  deposited  in  a cafe.  We  dine 
at  five,  in  a different  restaurant  every  day,  and  at  seven  or 
so  go  to  the  theatre — sometimes  to  two  theatres,  sometimes 


452 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


to  three.  We  get  home  about  twelve,  light  the  fire,  and 
drink  lemonade,  to  which  I add  rum.  We  go  to  bed  be- 
tween one  and  two.  I live  in  peace,  like  an  elderly  gen- 
tleman, and  regard  myself  as  in  a negative  state  of  virtue 
and  respectability. 

The  theatres  are  not  particularly  good,  but  I have  seen 
Lemaitre  act  in  the  most  wonderful  and  astounding  man- 
ner. I am  afraid  we  must  go  to  the  Opera  Comique  on 
Sunday.  To-morrow  we  dine  with  Regnier  and  to-day 
with  the  Olliffes. 

‘^La  Joie  fait  Peur,’'  at  the  Fran9ais,  delighted  me. 
Exquisitely  played  and  beautifully  imagined  altogether. 
Last  night  we  went  to  the  Porte  St.  Martin  to  see  a piece 
(English  subject)  called  Jane  Osborne,’’  which  the  char- 
acters pronounce  Ja  Nosbornnne.”  The  seducer  was  Lord 
Nottingham.  The  comic  Englishwoman’s  name  (she  kept 
lodgings  and  was  a very  bad  character)  was  Missees 
Christmas.  She  had  begun  to  get  into  great  difficulties 
with  a gentleman  of  the  name  of  Meestair  Cornhill,  when 
we  were  obliged  to  leave,  at  the  end  of  the  first  act,  by  the 
intolerable  stench  of  the  place.  The  whole  theatre  must 
be  standing  over  some  vast  cesspool.  It  was  so  alarming 
that  I instantly  rushed  into  a cafe  and  had  brandy. 

My  ear  has  gradually  become  so  accustomed  to  French, 
that  I understand  the  people  at  the  theatres  (for  the  first 
time)  with  perfect  ease  and  satisfaction.  I walked  about 
with  Regnier  for  an  hour  and  a half  yesterday,  and  re- 
ceived many  compliments  on  my  angelic  manner  of  speak- 
ing the  celestial  language.  There  is  a winter  Franconi’s 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


453 


now,  high  up  on  the  Boulevards,  just  like  the  round  theatre 
on  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  as  bright  and  beautiful.  A 
clown  from  Astley’s  is  all  in  high  favour  there  at  present. 
He  talks  slang  English  (being  evidently  an  idiot),  as  if  he 
felt  a perfect  confidence  that  everybody  understands  him. 
His  name  is  Boswell,  and  the  whole  cirque  rang  last  night 
with  cries  for  Boz  Zwilllll  ! Boz  Zweellll ! Boz  Zwuallll ! 
etc.  etc.  etc.  etc. 

I must  begin  to  look  out  for  the  box  of  bon-bons  for  the 
noble  and  fascinating  Plornish- Maroon.  Give  him  my  love 
and  a thousand  kisses. 

Loves  to  Mamey,  Katey,  Sydney,  Harry,  and  the  follow- 
ing stab  to  Anne — she  forgot  to  pack  me  any  shaving  soap. 

Ever,  my  dear  Georgy,  most  affectionately  yours. 

P.S. — Collins  sends  kind  regards. 

\^To  Mr,  W.H.  Wills.] 

Hotel  Meurice,  Paris,  Friday,  Feb.  i6th,  1855. 
My  dear  Wills, 

I received  your  letter  yesterday  evening.  I have  not  yet 
seen  the  lists  of  trains  and  boats,  but  propose  arranging  to 
return  about  Tuesday  or  Wednesday.  In  the  meantime  I 
am  living  like  Gil  Bias  and  doing  nothing.  I am  very  much 
obliged  to  you,  indeed,  for  the  trouble  you  have  kindly 
taken  about  the  little  freehold.  It  is  clear  to  me  that  its 
merits  resolve  themselves  into  the  view  and  the  spot.  If  I 
had  more  money  these  considerations  might,  with  me,  over- 
top all  others.  But,  as  it  is,  I consider  the  matter  quite 


454 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


disposed  of,  finally  settled  in  the  negative,  and  to  be  thought 
no  more  about.  I shall  not  go  down  and  look  at  it,  as  I 
could  add  nothing  to  your  report. 

Paris  is  finer  than  ever,  and  I go  wandering  about  it  all 
day.  We  dine  at  all  manner  of  places,  and  go  to  two  or 
three  theatres  in  the  evening.  I suppose,  as  an  old  farmer 
said  of  Scott,  I am  makin'  mysel’  all  the  time  ; but  I 
seem  to  be  rather  a free-and-easy  sort  of  superior  vag- 
abond. 

I live  in  continual  terror  of , and  am  strongly  forti- 

fied within  doors,  with  a means  of  retreat  into  my  bedroom 
always  ready.  Up  to  the  present  blessed  moment,  his 
staggering  form  has  not  appeared. 

As  to  yesterday’s  post  from  England,  I have  not,  at  the 
present  moment,  the  slightest  idea  where  it  may  be.  It  is 
under  the  snow  somewhere,  I suppose  ; but  nobody  expeccs 
it,  and  Galignani  reprints  every  morning  leaders  from  The 
Times  of  about  a fortnight  or  three  weeks  old. 

Collins,  who  is  not  very  well,  sends  his  penitent  re- 
gards,” and  says  he  is  enjoying  himself  as  much  as  a man 
with  the  weight  of  a broken  promise  on  his  conscience  can. 

Ever,  my  dear  Wills,  faithfully  yours. 

[7h  Mr.  Arthur  Rylandi] 

Tavistock  House,  February  26/y^,  1855. 
My  dear  Mr.  Ryland, 

Charley  came  home,  I assure  you,  perfectly  delighted 
with  his  visit  to  you,  and  rapturous  in  his  accounts  of  your 
great  kindness  to  him. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


455 


It  appears  to  me  that  the  first  question  in  reference  to 
my  reading  (I  have  not  advanced  an  inch  in  my  Copper- 
field  ''  trials  by-the-bye)  is,  whether  you  think  you  could 
devise  any  plan  in  connection  with  the  room  at  Dee’s, 
which  would  certainly  bring  my  help  in  money  up  to  five 
hundred  pounds.  That  is  what  I want.  If  it  could  be 
done  by  a subscription  for  two  nights,  for  instance,  I would 
not  be  chary  of  my  time  and  trouble.  But  if  you  cannot 
see  your  way  clearly  to  that  result  in  that  connection,  then 
I think  it  would  be  better  to  wait  until  we  can  have  the 
Town  Hall  at  Christmas.  I have  promised  to  read,  about 
Christmas  time,  at  Sheffield  and  at  Peterboro’.  I could 
add  Birmingham  to  the  list,  then,  if  need  were.  But  what 
I want  is,  to  give  the  institution  in  all  five  hundred  pounds. 
That  is  my  object,  and  nothing  less  will  satisfy  me. 

Will  you  think  it  over,  taking  counsel  with  whomsoever 
you  please,  and  let  me  know  what  conclusion  you  arrive 
at.  Only  think  of  me  as  subservient  to  the  institution. 

My  dear  Mr.  Ryland,  always  very  faithfully  yours. 

[7b  Mr.  David  Roberts.^  R.Al\ 

Tavistock  House,  February  1855. 
My  dear  David  Roberts, 

I hope  to  make  it  quite  plain  to  you,  in  a few  words, 
why  I think  it  right  to  stay  away  from  the  Lord  Mayor’s 
dinner  to  the  club.  If  I did  not  feel  a kind  of  rectitude 
involved  in  my  non-acceptance  of  his  invitation,  your  note 
would  immediately  induce  me  to  change  my  mind. 

Entertaining  a strong  opinion  on  the  subject  of  the 


456  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

City  Corporation  as  it  stands,  and  the  absurdity  of  its  pre- 
tensions in  an  age  perfectly  different,  in  all  conceivable 
respects,  from  that  to  which  it  properly  belonged  as  a 
reality,  I have  expressed  that  opinion  on  more  than  one 
occasion,  within  a year  or  so,  in  Household  Words/'  I do 
not  think  it  consistent  with  my  respect  for  myself,  or  for 
the  art  I profess,  to  blow  hot  and  cold  in  the  same  breath  ; 
and  to  laugh  at  the  institution  in  print,  and  accept  the 
hospitality  of  its  representative  while  the  ink  is  staring  us 
all  in  the  face.  There  is  a great  deal  too  much  of  this 
among  us,  and  it  does  not  elevate  the  earnestness  or  deli- 
cacy of  literature. 

This  is  my  sole  consideration.  Personally  I have  always 
met  the  present  Lord  Mayor  on  the  most  agreeable  terms, 
and  I think  him  an  excellent  one.  As  between  you,  and 
me,  and  him,  I cannot  have  the  slightest  objection  to  your 
telling  him  the  truth.  On  a more  private  occasion,  when 
he  was  not  keeping  his  state,  I should  be  delighted  to  in- 
terchange any  courtesy  with  that  honourable  and  amiable 
gentleman,  Mr.  Moon. 

Believe  me  always  cordially  yours. 

[7h  Mr.  Austen  H.  Layard.^ 

Tavistock  House,  Tuesday  Evenings  April  3^/,  1855. 
Dear  Layard, 

Since  I had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  again  at  Miss 
Coutts’s  (really  a greater  pleasure  to  me  than  I could  easily 
tell  you),  I have  thought  a good  deal  of  the  duty  we  all 
owe  you  of  helping  you  as  much  as  we  can.  Being  on 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


457 


very  intimate  terms  with  Lemon,  the  editor  of  Punch  ” 
(a  most  affectionate  and  true-hearted  fellow),  I mentioned 
to  him  in  confidence  what  I had  at  heart.  You  will  find 
yourself  the  subject  of  their  next  large  cut,  and  of  some 
lines  in  an  earnest  spirit.  He  again  suggested  the  point 
to  Mr.  Shirley  Brookes,  one  of  their  regular  corps,  who 
will  do  what  is  right  in  The  Illustrated  London  News  and 
The  Weekly  Chronicle,  papers  that  go  into  the  hands  of 
large  numbers  of  people.  I have  also  communicated  with 
Jerrold,  whom  I trust,  and  have  begged  him  not  to  be 
diverted  from  the  straight  path  of  help  to  the  most  useful 
man  in  England  on  all  possible  occasions.  Forster  I will 
speak  to  carefully,  and  I have  no  doubt  it  will  quicken 
him  a little  ; not  that  we  have  anything ' to  complain  of  in 
his  direction.  If  you  ever  see  any  new  loophole,  cranny, 
needle’s-eye,  through  which  I can  present  your  case  to 
Household  Words,”  I most  earnestly  entreat  you,  as  your 
staunch  friend  and  admirer — you  can  have  no  truer — to 
indicate  it  to  me  at  any  time  or  season,  and  to  count  upon 
my  being  Damascus  steel  to  the  core. 

All  this  is  nothing  ; because  all  these  men,  and  thou- 
sands of  others,  dote  upon  you.  But  I know  it  would  be 
a comfort  to  me,  in  your  hard-fighting  place,  to  be  assured 
of  such  sympathy,  and  therefore  only  I write. 

You  have  other  recreations  for  your  Sundays  in  the  ses- 
sion, I daresay,  than  to  come  here.  But  it  is  generally  a 
day  on  which  I do  not  go  out,  and  when  we  dine  at  half- 
past five  in  the  easiest  way  in  the  world,  and  smoke  in  the 
peacefulest  manner.  Perhaps  one  of  these  Sundays  after 
VOL.  I. 20 


458  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


Easter  you  might  not  be  indisposed  to  begin  to  dig  us 
out  ? 

And  I should  like,  on  a Saturday  of  your  appointing,  to 
get  a few  of  the  serviceable  men  I know — such  as  I have 
mentioned — about  you  here.  Will  you  think  of  this,  too, 
and  suggest  a Saturday  for  our  dining  together  ? 

I am  really  ashamed  and  moved  that  you  should  do 
your  part  so  manfully  and  be  left  alone  in  the  conflict.  I 
felt  you  to  be  all  you  are  the  first  moment  I saw  you.  I 
know  you  will  accept  my  regard  and  fidelity  for  what  they 
are  worth.  Dear  Layard,  very  heartily  yours. 

[7h  Mr.  Austen  H.  Layard?^ 

Tavistock  House,  Tuesday,  April  loih,  1855. 

Dear  Layard, 

I shall  of  course  observe  the  strictest  silence  at  present, 
in  reference  to  your  resolutions.  It  will  be  a most  accept- 
able occupation  to  me  to  go  over  them  with  you,  and  I 
have  not  a doubt  of  their  producing  a strong  effect  out  of 
doors. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  present  time  at  once  so  galling 
and  so  alarming  to  me  as  the  alienation  of  the  people  from 
their  own  public  affairs.  I have  no  difficulty  in  under- 
standing it.  They  have  had  so  little  to  do  with  the  game 
through  all  these  years  of  Parliamentary  Reform,  that  they 
have  sullenly  laid  down  their  cards,  and  taken  to  looking 
on.  The  players  who  are  left  at  the  table  do  not  see  be- 
yond it,  conceive  that  gain  and  loss  and  all  the  interest  of 
the  play  are  in  their  hands,  and  will  never  be  wiser  until 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


459 


they  and  the  table  and  the  lights  and  the  money  are  all 
overturned  together.  And  I believe  the  discontent  to  be 
so  much  the  worse  for  smouldering,  instead  of  blazing 
openly,  that  it  is  extremely  like  the  general  mind  of  France 
before  the  breaking  out  of  the  first  Revolution,  and  is  in 
danger  of  being  turned  by  any  one  of  a thousand  accidents 
— a bad  harvest — the  last  strain  too  much  of  aristocratic 
insolence  or  incapacity — a defeat  abroad — a mere  chance 
at  home — with  such  a devil  of  a conflagration  as  never  has 
been  beheld  since. 

Meanwhile,  all  our  English  tuft-hunting,  toad-eating, 
and  other  manifestations  of  accursed  gentility — to  say 
nothing  of  the  Lord  knows  who’s  defiances  of  the  proven 
truth  before  six  hundred  and  fifty  men — are  expressing 
themselves  every  day.  So,  every  day,  the  disgusted  mill- 
ions with  this  unnatural  gloom  are  confirmed  and  hard- 
ened in  the  very  worst  of  moods.  Finally,  round  all  this 
is  an  atmosphere  of  poverty,  hunger,  and  ignorant  despera- 
tion, of  the  mere  existence  of  which  perhaps  not  one  man 
in  a thousand  of  those  not  actually  enveloped  in  it,  through 
the  whole  extent  of  this  country,  has  the  least  idea. 

It  seems  to  me  an  absolute  impossibility  to  direct  the 
spirit  of  the  people  at  this  pass  until  it  shows  itself.  If 
they  begin  to  bestir  themselves  in  the  vigorous  national 
manner  ; if  they  would  appear  in  political  reunion,  array 
themselves  peacefully  but  in  vast  numbers  against  a system 
that  they  know  to  be  rotten  altogether,  make  themselves 
heard  like  the  sea  all  round  this  island,  I for  one  should 
be  in  such  a movement  heart  and  soul,  and  should  think  it 


460  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


a duty  of  the  plainest  kind  to  go  along  with  it,  and  try  to 
guide  it  by  all  possible  means.  But  you  can  no  more  help 
a people  who  do  not  help  themselves  than  you  can  help  a 
man  who  does  not  help  himself.  And  until  the  people 
can  be  got  up  from  the  lethargy,  which  is  an  awful  symp- 
tom of  the  advanced  state  of  their  disease,  I know  of 
nothing  that  can  be  done  beyond  keeping  their  wrongs 
continually  before  them. 

I shall  hope  to  see  you  soon  after  you  come  back.  Your 
speeches  at  Aberdeen  are  most  admirable,  manful,  and 
earnest.  I would  have  such  speeches  at  every  market- 
cross,  and  in  every  town-hall,  and  among  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men  ; up  in  the  very  balloons,  and  down  in 
the  very  diving-bells. 

Ever,  cordially  yours. 


[7h  Mr,  John  Forster^ 

Tavistock  House,  Saturday,  April  1855. 
My  dear  Forster, 

I cannot  express  to  you  how  very  much  delighted  I am 
with  the  Steele.’'  I think  it  incomparably  the  best  of 
the  series.  The  pleasanter  humanity  of  the  subject  may 
commend  it  more  to  one’s  liking,  but  that  again  requires  a 
delicate  handling,  which  you  have  given  to  it  in  the  most 
charming  manner.  It  is  surely  not  possible  to  approach  a 
man  with  a finer  sympathy,  and  the  assertion  of  the  claims 
of  literature  throughout  is  of  the  noblest  and  most  gallant 
kind. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS,  46 1 

I don’t  agree  with  you  about  the  serious  papers  in  The 
Spectator^  which  I think  (whether  they  be  Steele’s  or  Ad- 
dison’s) are  generally  as  indifferent  as  the  humour  of  The 
Spectator  is  delightful.  And  I have  always  had  a notion 
that  Prue  understood  her  husband  very  well,  and  held  him 
in  consequence,  when  a fonder  woman  with  less  show  of 
caprice  must  have  let  him  go.  But  these  are  points  of 
opinion.  The  paper  is  masterly,  and  all  I have  got  to  say 

is,  that  if had  a grain  of  the  honest  sentiment  with 

which  it  overflows,  he  never  would  or  could  have  made  so 
great  a mistake. 

Ever  affectionately. 

\To  Mr,  Mark  Lemon?^ 

Tavistock  House,  Thursday,  Apfil  26M,  1855. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AN  INFANT. 

My  dear  Mark, 

I will  call  for  you  at  two,  and  go  with  you  to  Highgate, 
by  all  means. 

Leech  and  I called  on  Tuesday  evening  and  left  our 
loves.  I have  not  written  to  you  since,  because  I thought 
it  best  to  leave  you  quiet  for  a day.  I have  no  need  to 
tell  you,  my  dear  fellow,  that  my  thoughts  have  been  con- 
stantly with  you,  and  that  I have  not  forgotten  (and  never 
shall  forget)  who  sat  up  with  me  one  night  when  a little 
place  in  my  house  was  left  empty. 

It  is  hard  to  lose  any  child,  but  there  are  many  blessed 
sources  of  consolation  in  the  loss  of  a baby.  There  is  a 


4^2  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


beautiful  thought  in  Fielding’s  Journey  from  this  World 
to  the  Next,”  where  the  baby  he  had  lost  many  years  be- 
fore was  found  by  him  all  radiant  and  happy,  building  him 
a bower  in  the  Elysian  Fields  where  they  were  to  live  to- 
gether when  he  came. 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 

P.  S. — Our  kindest  loves  to  Mrs.  Lemon. 

\To  Mr.  Clarkson  Stanfield^  R.Al\ 

Tavistock  House,  Sunday,  May  20th,  1855. 
My  dear  Stanny, 

I have  a little  lark  in  contemplation,  if  you  will  help  it 
to  fly. 

Collins  has  done  a melodrama  (a  regular  old-style  melo- 
drama), in  which  there  is  a very  good  notion.  I am  going 
to  act  it,  as  an  experiment,  in  the  children’s  theatre  here 
— I,  Mark,  Collins,  Egg,  and  my  daughter  Mary,  the 
whole  dram.  pers.  ; our  families  and  yours  the  whole  audi- 
ence ; for  I want  to  make  the  stage  large,  and  shouldn’t 
have  room  for  above  five-and-twenty  spectators.  Now 
there  is  one  scene  in  the  piece,  and  that,  my  tarry  lad,  is 
the  inside  of  a lighthouse.  Will  you  come  and  paint  it 
for  us  one  night,  and  we’ll  all  turn  to  and  help  ? It  is  a 
mere  wall,  of  course,  but  Mark  and  I have  sworn  that  you 
must  do  it.  If  you  will  say  yes,  I should  like  to  have  the 
tiny  flats  made,  after  you  have  looked  at  the  place,  and 
not  before.  On  Wednesday  in  this  week  I am  good  for  a 
steak  and  the  play,  if  you  will  make  your  own  appointment 
here  ; or  any  day  next  week  except  Thursday.  Write  me 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS.  4^3 


a line  in  reply.  We  mean  to  burst  on  an  astonished  world 
with  the  melodrama,  without  any  note  of  preparation.  So 
don’t  say  a syllable  to  Forster  if  you  should  happen  to  see 
him. 

Ever  affectionately  yours. 

\To  Mr,  Clarkson  Stafifield^  R.Ad[ 

Tavistock  House,  Tuesday  Afternoon,  Six  d clock. 

May  22nd,  1855. 

My  dear  Stanny, 

Your  note  came  while  I was  out  walking.  Even  if  I 
had  been  at  home  I could  not  have  managed  to  dine 
together  to-day,  being  under  a beastly  engagement  to  dine 
out.  Unless  I hear  from  you  to  the  contrary,  I shall  ex- 
pect you  here  some  time  to-morrow,  and  will  remain  at 
home.  I only  wait  your  instructions  to  get  the  little  can- 
vases made.  O,  what  a pity  it  is  not  the  outside  of  the 
light’us,  with  the  sea  a-rowling  agin  it ! Never  mind,  we’ll 
get  an  effect  out  of  the  inside,  and  there’s  a storm  and  a 
shipwreck  ‘^off  ; ” and  the  great  ambition  of  my  life  will 
be  achieved  at  last,  in  the  wearing  of  a pair  of  very  coarse 
petticoat  trousers.  So  hoorar  for  the  salt  sea,  mate,  and 
bouse  up  ! Ever  affectionately, 

Dicky. 

\_To  Mr.  Mark  Lemonl\ 

Tavistock  House,  May  2'^rd,  1855. 

My  dear  Mark, 

Stanny  says  he  is  only  sorry  it  is  not  the  outside  of  the 
lighthouse  with  a raging  sea  and  a transparent  light.  He 


4^4  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 

enters  into  the  project  with  the  greatest  delight,  and  I 
think  we  shall  make  a capital  thing  of  it. 

It  now  occurs  to  me  that  we  may  as  well  do  a farce  too. 
I should  like  to  get  in  a little  part  for  Katey,  and  also  for 
Charley,  if  it  were  practicable.  What  do  you  think  of 
‘‘Animal  Mag.'’  ? You  and  I in  our  old  parts;  Collins, 
Jeffrey ; Charley,  the  Markis ; Katey  and  Mary  (or 
Georgina),  the  two  ladies  ? Can  you  think  of  anything 
merry  that  is  better  ? It  ought  to  be  broad,  as  a relief  to 
the  melodrama,  unless  we  could  find  something  funny 
with  a story  in  it  too.  I rather  incline  myself  to  “ Ani- 
mal Mag.”  Will  you  come  round  and  deliver  your  senti- 
ments? 

Ever  affectionately. 

\To  Mr.  Frank  Stone,  A.F.A.^ 

Tavistock  House,  Thursday,  May  2^th,  1855. 
My  dear  Stone, 

Great  projects  are  afoot  here  for  a grown-up  play  in 
about  three  weeks’  time.  Former  schoolroom  arrange- 
ments to  be  reversed — large  stage  and  small  audience. 
Stanfield  bent  on  desperate  effects,  and  all  day  long  with 
his  coat  off,  up  to  his  eyes  in  distemper  colours. 

Will  you  appear  in  your  celebrated  character  of  Mr. 
Nightingale?  I want  to  wind  up  with  that  popular  farce, 
we  all  playing  our  old  parts. 


Ever  affectionately. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS.  46$ 

\_n  Mr.  Frank  Stone,  A,R,A.^ 

Tavistock  House,  May  24M,  1855. 

My  dear  Stone, 

That’s  right ! You  will  find  the  words  come  back  very 
quickly.  Why,  of  course  your  people  are  to  come,-and  if 
Stanfield  don’t  astonish  ’em,  I’m  a Dutchman.  O Heaven, 
if  you  could  hear  the  ideas  he  proposes  to  me,  making 
even  my  hair  stand  on  end  ! 

Will  you  get  Marcus  or  some  similar  bright  creature  to 
copy  out  old  Nightingale’s  part  for  you,  and  then  return 
the  book  ? This  is  the  prompt-book,  the  only  one  I have  ; 
and  Katey  and  Georgina  (being  also  in  wild  excitement) 
want  to  write  their  parts  out  with  all  despatch. 

Ever  affectionately. 


\To  Mr.  W.  Wilkie  Collins^ 

Tavistock  House,  Thursday,  May  1855. 
My  dear  Collins, 

I shall  expect  you  to-morrow  evening  at  “ Household 
Words.”  I have  written  a little  ballad  for  Mary — ^^The 
Story  of  the  Ship’s  Carpenter  and  the  Little  Boy,  in  the 
Shipwreck.” 

Let  us  close  up  with  ^^Mr.  Nightingale’s  Diary.”  Will 
you  look  whether  you  have  a book  of  it,  or  your  part. 

All  other  matters  and  things  hereunto  belonging  when 
we  meet. 


VoL.  I.— 20* 


Ever  faithfully. 


466  • LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS. 


\ To  Mrs.  Trollope?^ 

Tavistock  House,  Tuesday  Morning,  June  igfh,  1855. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Trollope, 

I was  out  of  town  on  Sunday,  or  I should  have  answered 
your  note  immediately  on  its  arrival.  I cannot  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  the  famous  medium”  to-night,  for  I 
have  some  theatricals  at  home.  But  I fear  I shall  not  in 
any  case  be  a good  subject  for  the  purpose,  as  I altogether 
want  faith  in  the  thing. 

I have  not  the  least  belief  in  the  awful  unseen  world 
being  available  for  evening  parties  at  so  much  per  night ; 
and,  although  I should  be  ready  to  receive  enlightenment 
from  any  source,  I must  say  I have  very  little  hope  of  it 
from  the  spirits  who  express  themselves  through  mediums, 
as  I have  never  yet  observed  them  to  talk  anything  but 
nonsense,  of  which  (as  Carlyle  would  say)  there  is  prob- 
ably enough  in  these  days  of  ours,  and  in  all  days,  among 
mere  mortality. 

Very  faithfully  yours. 

[To  Mr.  Clarkson  Stanfieldy  R,Al\ 

Tavistock  House,  Wednesday,  June  20th,  1855. 
My  dear  Stanny, 

I write  a hasty  note  to  let  you  know  that  last  night  was 
perfectly  wonderful ! ! ! 

Such  an  audience  ! Such  a brilliant  success  from  first 
to  last  ! The  Queen  had  taken  it  into  her  head  in  the 
morning  to  go  to  Chatham,  and  had  carried  Phipps  with 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  4^7 


her.  He  wrote  to  me  asking  if  it  were  possible  to  give  him 
a quarter  of  an  hour.  I got  through  that  time  before  the 
overture,  and  he  came  without  any  dinner,  so  influenced 
by  eager  curiosity.  Lemon  and  I did  every  conceivable 
absurdity,  I think,  in  the  farce  ; and  they  never  left  off 
laughing.  At  supper  I proposed  your  health,  which  was 
drunk  with  nine  times  nine,  and  three  cheers  over.  We 
then  turned  to  at  Scotch  reels  (having  had  no  exercise), 
and  danced  in  the  maddest  way  until  five  this  morning. 

It  is  as  much  as  I can  do  to  guide  the  pen. 

With  loves  to  Mrs.  Stanfield  and  all. 

Ever  most  affectionately  yours. 


[7h  J/ir,  JF”.  C.  Macready^ 

Tavistock  House,  Saturday,  June  2,0th,  1855. 
My  very  dear  Macready, 

I write  shortly,  after  a day’s  work  at  my  desk,  rather 
than  lose  a post  in  answering  your  enthusiastic,  earnest, 
and  young — how  young,  in.  all  the  best  side  of  youth — 
letter. 

To  tell  you  the  truth,  I confidently  expected  to  hear 
from  you.  I knew  that  if  there  were  a man  in  the  world 
who  would  be  interested  in,  and  who  would  approve  of, 
my  giving  utterance  to  whatever  was  in  me  at  this  time, 
it  would  be  you.  I was  as  sure  of  you  as  of  the  sun  this 
morning. 

The  subject  is  surrounded  by  difficulties  ; the  Associa- 
tion is  sorely  in  want  of  able  men  ; and  the  resistance  of 


468  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 

all  the  phalanx,  who  have  an  interest  in  corruption  and 
mismanagement,  is  the  resistance  of  a struggle  against 
death.  But  the  great,  first,  strong  necessity  is  to  rouse 
the  people  up,  to  keep  them  stirring  and  vigilant,  to  carry 

the  war  dead  into  the  tent  of  such  creatures  as , and 

ring  into  their  souls  (or  what  stands  for  them)  that  the 
time  for  dandy  insolence  is  gone  for  ever.  It  may  be 
necessary  to  come  to  that  law  of  primogeniture  (I  have  no 
love  for  it),  or  to  come  to  even  greater  things ; but  this  is 
the  first  service  to  be  done,  and  unless  it  is  done,  there  is 
not  a chance.  For  this,  and  to  encourage  timid  people  to 
come  in,  I went  to  Drury  Lane  the  other  night ; and  I 
wish  you  had  been  there  and  had  seen  and  heard  the 
people. 

The  Association  will  be  proud  to  have  your  name  and 
gift.  When  we  sat  down  on  the  stage  the  other  night,  and 
were  waiting  a minute  or  two  to  begin,  I said  to  Morley, 
the  chairman  (a  thoroughly  fine  earnest  fellow),  this 
reminds  me  so  of  one  of  my  dearest  friends,  with  a melan- 
choly so  curious,  that  I don't  know  whether  the  place 
feels  familiar  to  me  or  strange."  He  was  full  of  interest 
directly,  and  we  went  on  talking  of  you  until  the  moment 
of  his  getting  up  to  open  the  business. 

They  are  going  to  print  my  speech  in  a tract  form,  and 
send  it  all  over  the  country.  I corrected  it  for  the  pur- 
pose last  night.  We  are  all  well.  Charley  in  the  City  ; all 
the  boys  at  home  for  the  holidays  ; three  prizes  brought 
home  triumphantly  (one  from  the  Boulogne  waters  and 
one  from  Wimbledon)  ; I taking  dives  into  a new  book 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  4^9 


and  runs  at  leap-frog  over  Household  Words  and 
Anne  going  to  be  married — which  is  the  only  bad  news. 

Catherine,  Georgie,  Mary,  Katey,  Charley,  and  all  the 
rest,  send  multitudes  of  loves.  Ever,  my  dearest  Macready, 
with  unalterable  affection  and  attachment, 

Your  faithful  Friend. 

iTo  Mr.  W.  Wilkie  Collins?^ 

3,  Albion  Villas,  Folkestone,  Tuesday,  July  1855. 
My  dear  Collins, 

Walter  goes  back  to  school  on  the  ist  of  August.  Will 
you  come  out  of  school  to  this  breezy  vacation  on  the 
same  day,  or  rather  this  day  fortnight.,  July  31^/.?  for  that 
is  the  day  on  which  he  leaves  us,  and  we  begin  (here’s  a 
parent !)  to  be  able  to  be  comfortable.  Why  a boy  of  that 
age  should  seem  to  have  on  at  all  times  a hundred  and 
fifty  pair  of  double-soled  boots,  and  to  be  always  jumping 
a bottom  stair  with  the  whole  hundred  and  fifty,  I don’t 
know.  But  the  woeful  fact  is  within  my  daily  experience. 

We  have  a very  pleasant  little  house,  overlooking  the 
sea,  and  I think  you  will  like  the  place.  It  rained  in 
honour  of  our  arrival,  with  the  greatest  vigour,  yesterday. 
I went  out  after  dinner  to  buy  some  nails  (you  know  the 
arrangements  that  would  be  then  in  progress),  and  I stopped 
in  the  rain,  about  halfway  down  a steep,  crooked  street, 
like  a crippled  ladder,  to  look  at  a little  coachmaker’s, 
where  there  had  just  been  a sale.  Speculating  on  the  in- 
solvent coachmaker’s  business,  an5  what  kind  of  coaches 
he  could  possibly  have  expected  to  get  orders  for  in  Folke- 


470 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


stone,  I thought,  What  would  bring  together  fifty  people 
now,  in  this  little  street,  at  this  little  rainy  minute  ? ” On 
the  instant,  a brewer’s  van,  with  two  mad  horses  in  it,  and 
the  harness  dangling  about  them — like  the  trappings  of 
those  horses  you  are  acquainted  with,  who  bolted  through 
the  starry  courts  of  heaven — dashed  by  me,  and  in  that 
instant,  such  a crowd  as  would  have  accumulated  in  Fleet 
Street  sprang  up  magically.  Men  fell  out  of  windows, 
dived  out  of  doors,  plunged  down  courts,  precipitated 
themselves  down  steps,  came  down  waterspouts,  instead  of 
rain,  I think,  and  I never  saw  so  wonderful  an  instance  of 
the  gregarious  effect  of  an  excitement. 

A man,  a woman,  and  a child  had  been  thrown  out  on 
the  horses  taking  fright  and  the  reins  breaking.  The  child 
is  dead,  and  the  woman  very  ill  but  will  probably  recover, 
and  the  man  has  a hand  broken  and  other  mischief  done 
to  him. 

Let  me  know  what  Wigan  says.  If  he  does  not  take 
the  play,  and  readily  too,  I would  recommend  you  not  to 
offer  it  elsewhere.  You  have  gained  great  reputation  by 
it,  have  done  your  position  a deal  of  good,  and  (as  I think) 
stand  so  well  with  it,  that  it  is  a pity  to  engender  the  notion 
that  you  care  to  stand  better.  Ever  faithfully. 

[To  Mr.  W.  H.  Wills.] 

. Folkestone,  September  i6tky  1855. 

My  dear  Wills, 

Scrooge  is  delighted  to  find  that  Bob  Cratchit  is  enjoy- 
ing his  holiday  in  such  a delightful  situation  ; and  he  says 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


471 


(with  that  warmth  of  nature  which  has  distinguished  him 
since  his  conversion),  Make  the  most  of  it,  Bob  ; make 
the  most  of  it” 

[I  am  just  getting  to  work  on  No.  3 of  the  new  book, 
and  am  in  the  hideous  state  of  mind  belonging  to  that 
condition.] 

I have  not  a word  of  news.  I am  steeped  in  my  story, 
and  rise  and  fall  by  turns  into  enthusiasm  and  depression. 

Ever  faithfully. 

[n  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson.^ 

Folkestone,  Sunday,  Sept.  16th,  1855. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

This  will  be  a short  letter,  but  I hope  not  unwelcome.  If 
you  knew  how  often  I write  to  you — in  intention — I don’t 
know  where  you  would  find  room  for  the  correspondence. 

Catherine  tells  me  that  you  want  to  know  the  name  of 
my  new  book.  I cannot  bear  that  you  should  know  it 
from  anyone  but  me.  It  will  not  be  made  public  until 
the  end  of  October  ; the  title  is  : 

Nobody’s  Fault.” 

% 

Keep  it  as  the  apple  of  your  eye — an  expressive  form  of 
speech,  though  I have  not  the  least  idea  of  what  it  means. 

Next,  I wish  to  tell  you  that  I have  appointed  to  read 
at  Peterboro’,  on  Tuesday,  the  i8th  of  December.  I have 
told  the  Dean  that  I cannot  accept  his  hospitality,  and 
that  I am  going  with  Mr.  Wills  to  the  inn,  therefore  I shall 
be  absolutely  at  your  disposal,  and  shall  be  more  than  dis- 


472 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


appointed  if  you  don’t  stay  with  us.  As  the  time  ap- 
proaches will  you  let  me  know  your  arrangements,  and 
whether  Mr.  Wills  can  bespeak  any  rooms  for  you  in  ar- 
ranging for  me  ? Georgy  will  give  you  our  address  in 
Paris  as  soon  as  we  shall  have  settled  there.  We  shall  leave 
here,  I think,  in  rather  less  than  a month  from  this  time. 

You  know  my  state  of  mind  as  well  as  I do,  indeed,  if 
you  don’t  know  it  much  better,  it  is  not  the  state  of  mind 
I take  it  to  be.  How  I work,  how  I walk,  how  I shut 
myself  up,  how  I roll  down  hills  and  climb  up  cliffs  ; how 
the  new  story  is  everywhere — heaving  in  the  sea,  flying 
with  the  clouds,  blowing  in  the  wind  ; how  I settle  to 
nothing,  and  wonder  (in  the  old  way)  at  my  own  incom- 
prehensibility. I am  getting  on  pretty  well,  have  done  the 
first  two  numbers,  and  am  just  now  beginning  the  third  ; 
which  egotistical  announcements  I make  to  you  because  I 
know  you  will  be  interested  in  them. 

All  the  house  send  their  kindest  loves.  I think  of  in- 
serting an  advertisement  in  The  TimeSy  offering  to  submit 
the  Plornishghenter  to  public  competition,  and  to  receive 
fifty  thousand  pounds  if  such  another  boy  cannot  be  found, 
and  to  pay  five  pounds  (my  fortune)  if  he  can. 

Ever,  my  dear  Mrs.  Watson,  affectionately  yours. 

\_To  Mr.  W.  Wilkie  Collins?[ 

Folkestone,  Sunday,  Sept.  30th,  1855. 

My  dear  Collins, 

Welcome  from  the  bosom  of  the  deep  ! If  a hornpipe 
will  be  acceptable  to  you  at  any  time  (as  a reminder  of 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


473 


what  the  three  brothers  were  always  doing),  I shall  be,  as 
the  chairman  says  at  Mr.  Evans’s,  happy  to  oblige.” 

I have  almost  finished  No.  3,  in  which  I have  relieved 
my  indignant  soul  with  a scarifier.  Sticking  at  it  day  after 
day,  I am  the  //^completest  letter-writer  imaginable — seem 
to  have  no  idea  of  holding  a pen  for  any  other  purpose  but 
that  book.  My  fair  Laura  has  not  yet  reported  concerning 
Paris,  but  I should  think  will  have  done  so  before  I see 
you.  And  now  to  that  point.  I purpose  being  in  town  on 
Monday,,  the  when  I have  promised  to  dine  with  Fors- 
ter. At  the  office,  between  half-past  eleven  and  one  that 
day,  I will  expect  you,  unless  I hear  from  you  to  the  con- 
trary. Of  course  the  H.  W.  stories  are  at  your  disposi- 
tion. If  you  should  have  completed  your  idea,  we  might 
breakfast  together  at  the  G.  on  the  Tuesday  morning  and 
discuss  it.  Or  I shall  be  in  town  after  ten  on  the  Monday 
night.  At  the  office  I will  tell  you  the  idea  of  the  Christ- 
mas number,  which  will  put  you  in  train,  I hope,  for  a 
story.  I have  postponed  the  shipwreck  idea  for  a*  year,  as 
it  seemed  to  require  more  force  from  me  than  I could  well 
give  it  with  the  weight  of  a new  start  upon  me. 

All  here  send  their  kindest  remembrances.  We  missed 
you  very  much,  and  the  Plorn  was  quite  inconsolable.  We 
slide  down  Caesar  occasionally. 

They  launched  the  boat,  the  rapid  building  of  which 
you  remember,  the  other  day.  All  the  fishermen  in  the 
place,  all  the  nondescripts,  and  all  the  boys  pulled  at  it 
with  ropes  from  six  a.m.  to  four  p.m.  Every  now  and  then 
the  ropes  broke,  and  they  all  fell  down  in  the  shingle.  The 


474 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


obstinate  way  in  which  the  beastly  thing  wouldn’t  move 
was  so  exasperating  that  I wondered  they  didn’t  shoot  it, 
or  burn  it.  Whenever  it  moved  an  inch  they  all  cheered  ; 
whenever  it  wouldn’t  move  they  all  swore.  Finally,  when 
it  was  quite  given  over,  some  one  tumbled  against  it  acci- 
dentally (as  it  appeared  to  me,  looking  out  at  my  window 
here),  and  it  instantly  shot  about  a mile  into  the  sea,  and 
they  all  stood  looking  at  it  helplessly. 

Kind  regards  to  Pigott,  in  which  all  unite. 

Ever  faithfully. 

\^To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready.^ 

Folkestone,  Thursday^  Oct.  4M,  1855. 
My  dearest  Macready, 

I have  been  hammering  away  in  that  strenuous  manner 
at  my  book,  that  I have  had  leisure  for  scarcely  any  let- 
ters but  such  as  I have  been  obliged  to  write  ; having  a 
horrible  temptation  when  I lay  down  my  book-pen  to  run 
out  on  the  breezy  down  here,  tear  up  the  hills,  slide  down 
the  same,  and  conduct  myself  in  a frenzied  manner,  for 
the  relief  that  only  exercise  gives  me. 

Your  letter  to  Miss  Coutts  in  behalf  of  little  Miss  War- 
ner I despatched  straightway.  She  is  at  present  among 
the  Pyrenees,  and  a letter  from  her  crossed  that  one  of 
mine  in  which  I enclosed  yours,  last  week. 

Pray  stick  to  that  dim  notion  you  have  of  coming  to 
Paris  ! How  delightful  it  would  be  to  see  your  aged 
countenance  and  perfectly  bald  head  in  that  capital  ! It 
will  renew  your  youth  to  visit  a theatre  (previously  dining 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICILENS, 


475 


at  the  Trois  Freres)  in  company  with  the  jocund  boy  who 
now  addresses  you.  Do,  do  stick  to  it. 

You  will  be  pleased  to  hear,  I know,  that  Charley  has 
gone  into  Baring’s  house  under  very  auspicious  circum- 
stances. Mr.  Bates,  of  that  firm,  had  done  me  the  kind- 
ness to  place  him  at  the  brokers’  where  he  was.  And 
when  said  Bates  wrote  to  me  a fortnight  ago  to  say  that  an 
excellent  opening  had  presented  itself  at  Baring’s,  he  add- 
ed that  the  brokers  gave  Charley  so  high  a character  for 
ability  and  zeal  ” that  it  would  be  unfair  to  receive  him  as 
a volunteer,  and  he  must  begin  at  a fifty-pound  salary,  to 
which  I graciously  consented. 

As  to  the  suffrage,  I have  lost  hope  even  in  the  ballot. 
We  appear  to  me  to  have  proved  the  failure  of  representa- 
tive institutions  without  an  educated  and  advanced  people 
to  support  them.  What  with  teaching  people  to  keep  in 
their  stations,”  what  with  bringing  up  the  soul  and  body 
of  the  land  to  be  a good  child,  or  to  go  to  the  beershop, 
to  go  a-poaching  and  go  to  the  devil ; what  with  having 
no  such  thing  as  a middle  class  (for  though  we  are  per- 
petually bragging  of  it  as  our  safety,  it  is  nothing  but  a 
poor  fringe  on  the  mantle  of  the  upper)  ; what  with  flunky- 
ism,  toadyism,  letting  the  most  contemptible  lords  come  in 
for  all  manner  of  places,  reading  The  Coiu^t  Circular  for 
the  New  Testament,  I do  reluctantly  believe  that  the 
English  people  are  habitually  consenting  parties  to  the 
miserable  imbecility  into  which  we  have  fallen,  and  never 
will  help  themselves  out  of  it.  Who  is  to  do  it,  if  anybody 
is,  God  knows.  But  at  present  we  are  on  the  down-hill 


47^  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 

road  to  being  conquered,  and  the  people  will  be  content 
to  bear  it,  sing  Rule  Britannia,”  and  will  not  be  saved. 

In  No.  3 of  my  new  book  I have  been  blowing  off  a 
little  of  indignant  steam  which  would  otherwise  blow  me 
up,  and  with  God’s  leave  I shall  walk  in  the  same  all  the 
days  of  my  life  ; but  I have  no  present  political  faith  or 
hope — not  a grain. 

I am  going  to  read  the  Carol  ” here  to-morrow  in  a 
long  carpenter’s  shop,  which  looks  far  more  alarming  as  a 
place  to  hear  in  than  the  Town  Hall  at  Birmingham. 

Kindest  loves  from  all  to  your  dear  sister,  Kate  and  the 
darlings.  It  is  blowing  a gale  here  from  the  south-west 
and  raining  like  mad. 

Ever  most  affectionately. 

iTo  Mrs.  Charles  Dickens?^ 

2,  Rue  St.  Florentin,  Tuesday^  Oct.  i6tk,  1855. 
My  dearest  Catherine, 

We  have  had  the  most  awful  job  to  find  a place  that 
would  in  the  least  suit  us,  for  Paris  is  perfectly  full,  and 
there  is  nothing  to  be  got  at  any  sane  price.  However, 
we  have  found  two  apartments — an  entresol  and  a first 
floor,  with  a kitchen  and  servants’  room  at  the  top  of  the 
house,  at  No.  49,  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees. 

You  must  be  prepared  for  a regular  Continental  abode. 
There  is  only  one  window  in  each  room,  but  the  front 
apartments  all  look  upon  the  main  street  of  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  the  view  is  delightfully  cheerful.  There  are 
also  plenty  of  rooms.  They  are  not  over  and  above  well 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS, 


477 


furnished,  but  by  changing  furniture  from  rooms  we  don’t 
care  for  to  rooms  we  do  care  for,  we  shall  be  able  to  make 
them  home-like  and  presentable.  I think  the  situation 
itself  almost  the  finest  in  Paris  ; and  the  children  will  have 
a window  from  which  to  look  on  the  busy  life  outside. 

We  could  have  got  a beautiful  apartment  in  the  Rue 
Faubourg  St.  Honore  for  a very  little  more,  most  elegantly 
furnished  ; but  the  greater  part  of  it  was  on  a courtyard, 
and  it  would  never  have  done  for  the  children.  This, 
that  I have  taken  for  six  months,  is  seven  hundred  francs 
per  month,  and  twenty  more  for  the  concierge.  What  you 
have  to  expect  is  a regular  French  residence,  which  a little 
habitation  will  make  pretty  and  comfortable,  with  nothing 
showy  in  it,  but  with  plenty  of  rooms,  and  with  that  won- 
derful street  in  which  the  Barriere  de  I’Etoile  stands  out- 
side. The  amount  of  rooms  is  the  great  thing,  and  I 
believe  it  to  be  the  place  best  suited  for  us  at  a not  un- 
reasonable price  in  Paris. 

Georgina  and  Lady  Olliffe^  send  their  loves.  Georgina 
and  I add  ours  to  Mamey,  Katey,  the  Plorn,  and  Harry. 


Ever  affectionately. 


After  going  through  unheard-of  b 
you  shall  have  further  particulars  a: 


My  dear  Wills, 


* Wife  of  the  late  Sir  Joseph  Olliffe,  Physician  to  the  British  Embassy. 


\To  Mr.  W.  H.  U 


49,  Avenue  des  Cha 


478  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


/. 


side  upwards,  which  may  happen  in  a day  or  two),  we  are 
at  last  established  here  in  a series  of  closets,  but  a great 
many  of  them,  with  all  Paris  perpetually  passing  under  the 
windows.  Letters  may  have  been  wandering  after  me  to 
that  home  in  the  Rue  de  Balzac,  which  is  to  be  the  subject 
of  more  lawsuits  between  the  man  who  let  it  to  me  and  the 
man  who  wouldn’t  let  me  have  possession,  than  any  other 
house  that  ever  was  built.  But  I have  had  no  letters  at 
all,  and  have  been — ha,  ha ! — a maniac  since  last  Monday. 

I will  try  my  hand  at  that  paper  for  H.  W.  to-morrow, 
if  I can  get  a yard  of  flooring  to  sit  upon  ; but  we  have 
really  been  in  that  state  of  topsy-turvyhood  that  even  that 
has  been  an  unattainable  luxury,  and  may  yet  be  for  eight- 
and-forty  hours  or  so,  for  anything  I see  to  the  contrary. 

Ever  faithfully. 

[To  Mr.  W.H.  Wills. ~\ 

49,  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees,  Paris, 
Sunday  Night,  Oct.  21s t,  1855. 

My  dear  Wills, 

Coming  here  from  a walk  this  afternoon,  I found  your 
letter  of  yesterday  awaiting  me.  I send  this  reply  by  my 
brother  Alfred,  who  is  here,  and  who  returns  home  to-mor- 
row. You  should  get  it  at  the  oflice  early  on  Tuesday. 

I will  go  to  work  to-morrow,  and  will  send  you,  please 
God,  an  article  by  Tuesday’s  post,  which  you  will  get  on 
Wednesda)^  forenoon.  Look  carefully  to  the  proof,  as  I 
shall  not  have  time  to  receive  it  for  correction.  When  you 
arrange  about  sending  your  parcels,  will  you  ascertain,  and 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


479 


communicate  to  me,  the  prices  of  telegraph  messages  ? It 
will  save  me  trouble,  having  no  foreign  servant  (though 
French  is  in  that  respect  a trump),  and  may  be  useful  on 
an  emergeney. 

I have  two  floors  here — entresol  and  first — in  a doll’s 
house,  but  really  pretty  within,  and  the  view  without 
astounding,  as  you  will  say  when  you  come.  The  house 
is  on  the  Exposition  side,  about  half  a quarter  of  a mile 
above  Franconi’s,  of  course  on  the  other  side  of  the  way, 
and  close  to  the  Jardin  d’Hiver.  Each  room  has  but  one 
window  in  it,  but  we  have  no  fewer  than  six  rooms  (be- 
sides the  back  ones)  looking  on  the  Champs  Elysees,  with 
the  wonderful  life  perpetually  flowing  up  and  down.  We 
have  no  spare  room,  but  excellent  stowage  for  the  whole 
family,  including  a capital  dressing-room  for  me,  and  a 
really  slap-up  kitchen  near  the  stairs.  Damage  for  the 
whole,  seven  hundred  francs  a month. 

But,  sir — but — when  Georgina,  the  servants,  and  I were 
here  for  the  first  night  (Catherine  and  the  rest  being  at 
Boulogne),  I heard  Georgy  restless — turned  out — asked  : 
^‘What’s  the  matter?”  Oh,  it’s  dreadfully  dirty.  I 
can’t  sleep  for  the  smell  of  my  room.”  Imagine  all  my 
stage-managerial  energies  multiplied  at  daybreak  by  a 
thousand.  Imagine  the  porter,  the  porter’s  wife,  the  por- 
ter’s wife’s  sister,  a feeble  upholsterer  of  enormous  age 
from  round  the  corner,  and  all  his  workmen  (four  boys), 
summoned.  Imagine  the  partners  in  the  proprietorship  of 
the  apartment,  and  martial  little  man  with  Franqois-Prus- 
sian  beard,  also  summoned.  Imagine  your  inimitable  chief 


48P  letters  of  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

briefly  explaining  that  dirt  is  not  in  his  way,  and  that  he  is 
driven  to  madness,  and  that  he  devotes  himself  to  no  coat 
and  a dirty  face,  until  the  apartment  is  thoroughly  purified. 
Imagine  co-proprietors  at  first  astounded,  then  urging  that 
‘‘it’s  not  the  custom,”  then  wavering,  then  affected,  then 
confiding  their  utmost  private  sorrows  to  the  Inimitable, 
offering  new  carpets  (accepted),  embraces  (not  accepted), 
and  really  responding  like  French  bricks.  Sallow,  un- 
brushed, unshorn,  awful,  stalks  the  Inimitable  through  the 
apartment  until  last  night.  Then  all  the  improvements 
were  concluded,  and  I do  really  believe  the  place  to  be 
now  worth  eight  or  nine  hundred  francs  per  month.  You 
must  picture  it  as  the  smallest  place  you  ever  saw,  but  as 
exquisitely  cheerful  and  vivacious,  clean  as  anything  hu- 
man can  be,  and  with  a moving  panorama  always  outside, 
which  is  Paris  in  itself. 

You  mention  a letter  from  Miss  Coutts  as  to  Mrs. 
Brown’s  illness,  which  you  say  is  “ enclosed  to  Mrs.  Charles 
Dickens.” 

It  is  not  enclosed,  and  I am  mad  to  know  where  she 
writes  from  that  I may  write  to  her.  Pray  set  this  right, 
for  her  uneasiness  will  be  greatly  intensified  if  she  have  no 
word  from  me. 

I thought  we  were  to  give  ^^1,700  for  the  house  at  Gad’s 
Hill.  Are  we  bound  to  ;^i,8oo?  Considering  the  im- 
provements to  be  made,  it  is  a little  too  much,  isn’t  it  I 
have  a strong  impression  that  at  the  utmost  we  were  only 
to  divide  the  difference,  and  not  to  pass  ;^i,75o.  You 
will  set  me  right  if  I am  wrong.  But  I don’t  think  I am. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  48 1 


I write  very  hastily,  with  the  piano  playing  and  Alfred 
looking  for  this. 


Ever,  my  dear  Wills,  faithfully. 


iTo  Mr.  W.H.  Wills.] 

49,  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees, 

Wednesday,  Oct.  2^tk,  1855. 

My  dear  Wills, 

In  the  Gad’s  Hill  matter,  I too  would  like  to  try  the 
effect  of  “ not  budging.”  So  do  not  go  beyond  the  ;^i,7oo. 
Considering  what  I should  have  to  expend  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  low  price  of  stock  on  the  other,  I do  not 
feel  disposed  to  go  beyond  that  mark.  They  won’t  let  a 
purchaser  escape  for  the  sake  of  the  ;^ioo,  I think.  And 
Austin  was  strongly  of  opinion,  when  I saw  him  last,  that 
^1,700  was  enough. 

You  cannot  think  how  pleasant  it  is  to  me  to  find  my- 
self generally  known  and  liked  here.  If  I go  into  a shop 
to  buy  anything,  and  give  my  card,  the  officiating  priest 
or  priestess  brightens  up,  and  says  : “ Ah  ! dest  V ecrivain 
cdebre  ! Monsieur  porte  un  nom  tres- distingue.  Mais ! 

\ je  suis  honore  et  inte'resse  de  voir  Monsieur  Dick-in.  Je  Us 
un  des  livres  de  monsieur  tons  les  jours  ” (in  the  Moniteur'). 
And  a man  who  brought  some  little  vases  home  last  night, 
said  : On  connait  Men  en  France  que  Monsieur  Dick-in 

prend  sa  position  sur  la  dignite  de  la  litterature.  Ah  ! d est 
grande  chose  ! Et  ses  caracteres  ” (this  was  to  Georgina, 
while  he  unpacked)  sont  si  spirituellement  tourndes  ! Cette 
VoL.  I. — 21 


482 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


Madame  Tojare''  (Todgers)  qu'elle  est  drdle  et prd- 

cisement  comme  une  dame  que  je  con7iais  a Calais P 

You  cannot  have  any  doubt  about  this  place,  if  you  will 
only  recollect  it  is  the  great  main  road  from  the  Place  de 
la  Concorde  to  the  Barriere  de  TEtoile. 

Ever  faithfully. 


iTo  Monsieur  Regnierl] 

Wednesday,  November  2ist,  1855. 

My  dear  Regnier, 

In  thanking  you  for  the  box  you^  kindly  sent  me  the  day 
before  yesterday,  let  me  thank  you  a thousand  times  for 
the  delight  we  derived  from  the  representation  of  your 
beautiful  and  admirable  piece.  I have  hardly  ever  been 
so  affected  and  interested  in  any  theatre.  Its  construc- 
tion is  in  the  highest  degree  excellent,  the  interest  absorb- 
ing, and  the  whole  conducted  by  a masterly  hand  to  a 
touching  and  natural  conclusion. 

Through  the  whole  story  from  beginning  to  end,  I rec- 
ognise the  true  spirit  and  feeling  of  an  artist,  and  I most 
heartily  offer  you  and  your  fellow-labourer  my  felicitations 
on  the  success  you  have  achieved.  That  it  will  prove  a 
very  great  and  a lasting  one,  I cannot  for-  a moment 
doubt. 

Oh  my  friend  ! If  I could  see  an  English  actress  with 
but  one  hundredth  part  of  the  nature  and  art  of  Madame 
Plessy,  I should  believe  our  English  theatre  to  be  in  a fair 
way  towards  its  regeneration.  But  I have  no  hope  of  ever 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  4^3 


beholding  such  a phenomenon.  I may  as  well  expect 
ever  to  see  upon  an  English  stage  an  accomplished  artist, 
able  to  write  and  to  embody  what  he  writes,  like  you. 

• Faithfully  yours  ever. 

[ To  Madame  ViardoC~\ 

49,  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees,  Monday^  Dec.  3rd,  1855. 
Dear  Madame  Viardot, 

Mrs.  Dickens  tells  me  that  you  have  only  borrowed  the 
first  number  of  Little  Dorrit,”  and  are  going  to  send  it 
back.  Pray  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  and  allow  me  to  have 
the  great  pleasure  of  sending  you  the  succeeding  numbers 
as  they  reach  me.  I have  had  such  delight  in  your  great 
genius,  and  have  so  high  an  interest  in  it  and  admiration 
of  it,  that  I am  proud  of  the  honour  of  giving  you  a mo- 
ment’s intellectual  pleasure. 

Believe  me,  very  faithfully  yours. 


[To  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson^ 

Tavistock  House,  Sunday,  Dec.  23rd,  1855. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

I have  a moment  in  which  to  redeem  my  promise,  of 
putting  you  in  possession  of  my  Little  Friend  No.  2,  be- 
fore the  general  public.  It  is,  of  course,  at  the  disposal 
of  your  circle,  but  until  the  month  is  out,  is  understood  to 
be  a prisoner  in  the  castle. 

If  I had  time  to  write  anything,  I should  still  quite 
vainly  try  to  tell  you  what  interest  and  happiness  I had  in 


484  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

onee  more  seeing  you  among  your  dear  children.  Let  me 
congratulate  you  on  your  Eton  boys.  They  are  so  hand- 
some, frank,  and  genuinely  modest,  that  they  charmed  me. 
A kiss  to  the  little  fair-haired  darling  and  the  rest  ; the 
love  of  my  heart  to  every  stone  in  the  old  house. 

Enormous  effect  at  Sheffield.  But  really  not  a better 
audience  perceptively  than  at  Peterboro',  for  that  could 
hardly  be,  but  they  were  more  enthusiastically  demonstra- 
tive, and  they  took  the  line,  and  to  Tiny  Tim  who  did 
NOT  die,”  with  a most  prodigious  shout  and  roll  of  thunder. 

Ever,  my  dear  Friend,  most  faithfully  yours. 


1856. 

NARRATIVE. 

Charles  Dickens  having  taken  an  appartement'w^  Paris 
for  the  winter  months,  49,  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees, 
was  there  with  his  family  until  the  middle  of  May.  He 
much  enjoyed  this  winter  sojourn,  meeting  many  old 
friends,  making  new  friends,  and  interchanging  hospitali- 
ties with  the  French  artistic  world.  He  had  also  many 
friends  from  England  to  visit  him.  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins 
had  an  appartement  de  gar(^on  hard  by,  and  the  two  com- 
panions were  constantly  together.  The  Rev.  James  White 
and  his  family  also  spent  their  winter  at  Paris,  having  taken 
an  apparte77ient  at  49,  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees,  and  the 
girls  of  the  two  families  had  the  same  masters,  and  took 
their  lessons  together.  After  the  Whites’  departure,  Mr. 
Macready  paid  Charles  Dickens  a visit,  occupying  the 
vacant  appartement. 

During  this  winter  Charles  Dickens  was,  however,  con- 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


stantly  backwards  and  forwards  between  Paris  and  Lon 
on  Household  Words  ” business,  and  was  also  at  wo 
on  his  Little  Dorrit.” 

While  in  Paris  he  sat  for  his  portrait  to  the  great  Ar} 
Scheffer.  It  was  exhibited  at  the  Royal  Academy  Exhi- 
bition of  .this  year,  and  is  now  in  the  National  Portrait 
Gallery. 

The  summer  was  again  spent  at  Boulogne,  and  once 
more  at  the  Villa  des  Moulineaux,  where  he  received  con- 
stant visits  from  English  friends,  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins  taking 
up  his  quarters  for  many  weeks  at  a little  cottage  in  the 
garden  ; and  there  the  idea  of  another  play,  to  be  acted  at 
Tavistock  House,  was  first  started.  Many  of  our  letters 
for  this  year  have  reference  to  this  play,  and  will  show  the 
interest  which  Charles  Dickens  took  in  it,  and  the  immense 
amount  of  care  and  pains  given  by  him  to  the  careful 
carrying  out  of  this  favourite  amusement. 

The  Christmas  number  of  Household  Words,’'  written 
by  Charles  Dickens  and  Mr.  Collins,  called  ‘^The  Wreck 
of  the  Golden  Mary”  was  planned  by  the  two  friends 
during  this  summer  holiday. 

It  was  in  this  year  that  one  of  the  great  wishes  of  his 
life  was  to  be  realised,  the  much-coveted  house — Gad’s 
Hill  Place — having  been  purchased  by  him,  and  the 
cheque  written  on  the  14th  of  March — on  a Friday,”  as 
he  writes  to  his  sister-in-law,  in  the  letter  of  this  date. 
He  frequently  remarked  that  all  the  important,  and  so  far 
fortunate,  events  of  his  life  had  happened  to  him  on  a 
Friday.  So  that,  contrary  to  the  usual  superstition,  that 
day  had  come  to  be  looked  upon  by  his  family  as  his 
lucky  ” day. 

The  allusion  to  the  plainness  ” of  Miss  Boyle’s  hand- 
writing is  good-humouredly  ironical  ; that  lady’s  writing 
being  by  no  means  famous  for  its  legibility. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


The  Anne  mentioned  in  the  letter  to  his  sister-in- 
w,  which  follows  the  one  to  Miss  Boyle,  was  the  faithful 
ervant  who  had  lived  with  the  family  so  long  ; and  who, 
aving  left  to  be  married  the  previous  year,  had  found  it  a 
very  difficult  matter  to  recover  from  her  sorrow  at  this 
parting.  And  the  godfather's  present  " was  for  a son  of 
Mr.  Edmund  Yates. 

The  humble  petition " was  written  to  Mr.  Wilkie 
Collins  during  that  gentleman's  visit  to  Paris. 

The  explanation  of  the  remark  to  Mr.  Wills  (6th  April), 
that  he  had  paid  the  money  to  Mr.  Poole,  is  that  Charles 
Dickens  was  the  trustee  through  whom  the  dramatist  re- 
ceived his  pension. 

The  letter  to  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  has  reference  to 
the  peace  illuminations  after  the  Crimean  war. 

The  M.  Forgues  for  whom,  at  Mr.  Collins's  request,  he 
writes  a short  biography  of  himself,  was  the  editor  of  the 
Revue  des  Deux  Mondes. 

The  speech  at  the  London  Tavern  was  on  behalf  of  the 
Artists'  Benevolent  Fund. 

Miss  Kate  Macready  had  sent  some  clever  poems  to 
Household  Words,"  with  which  Charles  Dickens  had 
been  much  pleased.  He  makes  allusion  to  these,  in  our 
two  remaining  letters  to  Mr.  Macready. 

did  write  it  for  you"  (letter  to  Mrs.  Watson,  17th 
October),  refers  to  that  part  of  Little  Dorrit " which 
treats  of  the  visit  of  the  Dorrit  family  to  the  Great  St. 
Bernard.  An  expedition  which  it  will  be  remembered  he 
made  himself,  in  company  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Watson  and 
other  friends. 

The  letter  to  Mrs.  Horne  refers  to  a joke  about  the 
name  of  a friend  of  this  lady's,  who  had  once  been  brought 
by  her  to  Tavistock  House.  The  letter  to  Mr.  Mitton  con- 
cerns the  lighting  of  the  little  theatre  at  Tavistock  House. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


487 


Our  last  letter  is  in  answer  to  one  from  Mr.  Kent,  ask- 
ing him  to  sit  to  Mr.  John  AVatkins  for  his  photograph. 
We  should  add,  however,  that  he  did  subsequently  give 
this  gentleman  some  sittings. 


iTo  Mr,  W,H.  WiUs?[ 

49,  Champs  Elysees,  Sunday,  Jan,  6th,  1856. 
My  dear  Wills, 

I should  like  Morley  to  do  a Strike  article,  and  to  work 
into  it  the  greater  part  of  what  is  here.  But  I cannot  rep- 
resent myself  as  holding  the  opinion  that  all  strikes  among 
this  unhappy  class  of  society,  who  find  it  so  difficult  to 
get  a peaceful  hearing,  are  always  necessarily  wrong,  be- 
cause I don't  think  so.  To  open  a discussion  of  the  ques- 
tion by  saying  that  the  men  are  of  course  entirely  and 
painfully  in  the  wrong,”  surely  would  be  monstrous  in  any 
one.  Show  them  to  be  in  the  wrong  here,  but  in  the  name 
of  the  eternal  heavens  show  why,  upon  the  merits  of  this 
question.  Nor  can  I possibly  adopt  the  representation 
that  these  men  are  wrong  because  by  throwing  themselves 
out  of  work  they  throw  other  people,  possibly  without 
their  consent.  If  such  a principle  had  anything  in  it, 
there  could  have  been  no  civil  war,  no  raising  by  Hamp- 
den of  a troop  of  horse,  to  the  detriment  of  Buckingham- 
shire agriculture,  no  self-sacrifice  in  the  political  world. 

And  O,  good  God,  when treats  of  the  suffering  of 

wife  and  children,  can  lie  suppose  that  these  mistaken 
men  don’t  feel  it  in  the  depths  of  their  hearts,  and  don’t 


488  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS 

honestly  and  honourably,  most  devoutly  and  faithfully  be- 
lieve that  for  those  very  children,  when  they  shall  have 
children,  they  are  bearing  all  these  miseries  now  ! 

I hear  from  Mrs.  Fillonneau  that  her  husband  was 
obliged  to  leave  town  suddenly  before  he  could  get  your 
parcel,  consequently  he  has  not  brought  it  ; and  White's 
sovereigns — unless  you  have  got  them  back  again — are 
either  lying  out  of  circulation  somewhere,  or  are  being 
spent  by  somebody  else.  I will  write  again  on  Tuesday.  ‘ 
My  article  is  to  begin  the  enclosed. 

Ever  faithfully. 

\^To  Mr,  Mark  Lemon?[ 

49,  Champs  Elysees,  Paris,  Monday,  Jan.  ^th,  1856. 

My  dear  Mark, 

I want  to  know  how  “Jack  and  the  Beanstalk  " goes. 

I have  a notion  from  a notice — a favourable  notice,  how- 
ever— which  I saw  in  Galignani^  that  Webster  has  let 
down  the  comic  business. 

In  a piece  at  the  Ambigu,  called  the  “ Rentree  a Paris," 
a mere  scene  in  honour  of  the  return  of  the  troops  from 
the  Crimea  the  other  day,  there  is  a novelty  which  I think 
it  worth  letting  you  know  of,  as  it  is  easily  available,  either 
for  a serious  or  a comic  interest — the  introduction  of  a 
supposed  electric  telegraph.  The  scene  is  the  railway 
terminus  at  Paris,  with  the  electric  telegraph  office  on  the 
prompt  side,  and  the  clerks  with'^their  backs  to  the  audience 
— much  more  real  than  if  they  were,  as  they  infallibly 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  4^9 


would  be,  staring  about  the  house — working  the  needles  ; 
and  the  little  bell  perpetually  ringing.  There  are  assem- 
bled to  greet  the  soldiers,  all  the  easily  and  naturally  im- 
agined elements  of  interest — old  veteran  fathers,  young 
children,  agonised  mothers,  sisters  and  brothers,  girl  lovers 
— each  impatient  to  know  of  his  or  her  own  object  of  soli- 
citude. Enter  to  these  a certain  marquis,  full  of  sympathy 
for  all,  who  says  : My  friends,  I am  one  of  you.  My 

brother  has  no  commission  yet.  He  is  a common  soldier. 
I wait  for  him  as  well  as  all  brothers  and  sisters  here  wait 
for  their  brothers.  Tell  me  whom  you  are  expecting.” 
Then  they  all  tell  him.  Then  he  goes  into  the  telegraph- 
office,  and  sends  a message  down  the  line  to  know  how 
long  the  troops  will  be.  Bell  rings.  Answer  handed  out 
on  a slip  of  paper.  Delay  on  the  line.  Troops  will  not 
arrive  for  a quarter  of  an  hour.”  General  disappointment. 
“ But  we  have  this  brave  electric  telegraph,  my  friends,” 
says  the  marquis.  “ Give  me  your  little  messages,  and  I’ll 
send  them  off.”  General  rush  round  the  marquis.  Excla- 
mations : How’s  Henri  ? ” “ My  love  to  Georges  ; ” Has 

Guillaume  forgotten  Elise  ? ” “ Is  my  son  wounded  ? ” Is 
my  brother  promoted  ? ” etc.  etc.  Marquis  composes  tu- 
mult. Sends  message — such  a regiment,  such  a company 
Elise’s  love  to  Georges.”  Little  bell  rings,  slip  of  paper 
handed  out — Georges  in  ten  minutes  will  embrace  his 
Elise.  Sends  her  a thousand  kisses.”  Marquis  sends 
message — such  a regiment,  such  a company — Is  my  son 
wounded  ? ” Little  bell  rings.  Slip  of  paper  handed  out 
— No.  He  has  not  yet  upon  him  those  marks  of  bravery 
VOL.  I. 2 1* 


490 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


in  the  glorious  service  of  his  country  which  his  dear  old 
father  bears (father  being  lamed  and  invalided).  Last 
of  all,  the  widowed  mother.  Marquis  sends  message — 
such  a regiment,  such  a company — Is  my  only  son  safe  ? ” 
Little  bell  rings.  Slip  of  paper  handed  out — He  was 
first  upon  the  heights  of  Alma.’'  General  cheer.  Bell 
rings  again,  another  slip  of  paper  handed  out.  “ He  was 
made  a sergeant  at  Inkermann.”  Another  cheer.  Bell 
rings  again,  another  slip  of  paper  handed  out.  ‘‘  He  was 
made  colour-sergeant  at  Sebastopol.”  Another  cheer. 
Bell  rings  again,  another  slip  of  paper  handed  out.  “ He 
was  the  first  man  who  leaped  with  the  French  banner  on 
the  Malakhoff  tower.”  Tremendous  cheer.  Bell  rings 
again,  another  slip  of  paper  handed  out.  “ But  he  was 

struck  down  there  by  a musket-ball,  and Troops  have 

proceeded.  Will  arrive  in  half  a minute  after  this.” 
Mother  abandons  all  hope  ; general  commiseration  ; troops 
rush  in,  down  a platform  ; son  only  wounded,  and  em- 
braces her. 

As  I have  said,  and  as  you  will  see,  this  is  available  for 
any  purpose.  But  done  with  equal  distinction  and  rapid- 
ity, it  is  a tremendous  effect,  and  got  by  the  simplest 
means  in  the  world.  There  is  nothing  in  the  piece,  but  it 
was  impossible  not  to  be  moved  and  excited  by  the  tele- 
graph part  of  it. 

I hope  you  have  seen  something  of  Stanny,  and  have 
been  to  pantomimes  with  him,  and  have  drunk  to  the  ab- 
sent Dick.  I miss  you,  my  dear  old  boy,  at  the  play,  woe- 
fully, and  miss  the  walk  home,  and  the  partings  at  the 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS,  49 ^ 

corner  of  Tavistock  Square.  And  when  I go  by  myself,  I 
come  home  stewing  Little  Dorrit  in  my  head  ; and 
the  best  part  of  my  play  is  (or  ought  to  be)  in  Gordon 
Street, 

I have  written  to  Beaucourt  about  taking  that  breezy 
house — a little  improved — for  the  summer,  and  I hope  you 
and  yours  will  come  there  often  and  stay  there  long.  My 
present  idea,  if  nothing  should  arise  to  unroot  me  sooner, 
is  to  stay  here  until  the  middle  of  May,  then  plant  the 
family  at  Boulogne,  and  come  with  Catherine  and  Georgy 
home  for  two  or  three  weeks.  When  I shall  next  run 
across  I don’t  know,  but  I suppose  next  month. 

We  are  up  to  our  knees  in  mud  here.  Literally  in 
vehement  despair,  I walked  down  the  avenue  outside  the 
Barriere  de  I’Etoile  here  yesterday,  and  went  straight  on 
among  the  trees.  I came  back  with  top-boots  of  mud  on. 
Nothing  will  cleanse  the  streets.  Numbers  of  men  and 
women  are  for  ever  scooping  and  sweeping  in  them,  and 
they  are  always  one  lake  of  yellow  mud.  All  my  trousers 
go  to  the  tailor’s  every  day,  and  are  ravelled  out  at  the 
heels  every  night.  Washing  is  awful. 

T ell  Mrs.  Lemon,  with  my  love,  that  I have  bought  her 
some  Eau  d’Or,  in  grateful  remembrance  of  her  knowing 
what  it  is,  and  crushing  the  tyrant  of  her  existence  by 
resolutely  refusing  to  be  put  down  when  that  monster 
would  have  silenced  her.  You  may  imagine  the  loves  and 
messages  that  are  now  being  poured  in  upon  me  by  all  of 
them,  so  I will  give  none  of  them  ; though  I am  pretend- 
ing to  be  very  scrupulous  about  it,  and  am  looking  (I  have 


492 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 

no  doubt)  as  if  I were  writing  them  down  with  the  great- 
est care. 

Ever  affectionately. 


\^To  Mr,  W,  Wilkie  Collins 

49,  Champs  Elyses,  Saturday,  Jan,  igtk,  1856. 
My  dear  Collins, 

I had  no  idea  you  were  so  far  on  with  your  book,  and 
heartily  congratulate  you  on  being  within  sight  of  land. 

It  is  excessively  pleasant  to  me  to  get  your  letter,  as  it 
opens  a perspective  of  theatrical  and  other  lounging  even- 
ings, and  also  of  articles  in  Household  Words.”  It  will 
not  be  the  first  time  that  we  shall  have  got  on  well  in  Paris, 
and  I hope  it  will  not  be  by  many  a time  the  last. 

I purpose  coming  over,  early  in  February  (as  soon,  in 
fact,  as  I shall  have  knocked  out  No.  5 of  “ Little  D.”), 
and  therefore  we  can  return  in  a jovial  manner  together. 
As  soon  as  I know  my  day  of  coming  over,  I will  write  to 
you  again,  and  (as  the  merchants — say  Charley — would 
add)  communicate  same  ” to  you. 

The  lodging,  en  gargon^  shall  be  duly  looked  up,  and  I 
shall  of  course  make  a point  of  finding  it  close  here.  There 
will  be  no  difficulty  in  that.  I will  have  concluded  the 
treaty  before  starting  for  London,  and  will  take  it  by  the 
month,  both  because  that  is  the  cheapest  way,  and  because 
desirable  places  don’t  let  for  shorter  terms. 

I have  been  sitting  to  Scheffer  to-day — conceive  this,  if 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


493 


you  please,  with  No.  5 upon  my  soul — four  hours  ! ! lam 
so  addleheaded  and  bored,  that  if  you  were  here,  I should 
propose  an  instantaneous  rush  to  the  Trois  Freres.  Under 
existing  circumstances  I have  no  consolation. 

I think  THE  portrait  * is  the  most  astounding  thing  ever 
beheld  upon  this  globe.  It  has  been  shrieked  over  by  the 
united  family  as  “ Oh  ! the  very  image  ! ” I went  down 
to  the  entresol  the  moment  I opened  it,  and  submitted  it  to 
the  Plorn — then  engaged,  with  a half-franc  musket,  in 
capturing  a Malakhoff  of  chairs.  He  looked  at  it  very 
hard,  and  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  it  was  Misser  Hegg. 
We  suppose  him  to  have  confounded  the  Colonel  with  Jol- 
lins.  I met  Madame  Georges  Sand  the  other  day  at  a 
dinner  got  up  by  Madame  Viardot  for  that  great  purpose. 
The  human  mind  cannot  conceive  any  one  more  astonish- 
ingly opposed  to  all  my  preconceptions.  If  I had  been 
shown  her  in  a state  of  repose,  and  asked  what  I thought 
her  to  be,  I should  have  said  : The  Queen’s  monthly 

nurse.”  Au  reste^  she  has  nothing  of  the  has  bleu  about 
her,  and  is  very  quiet  and  agreeable. 

The  way  in  which  mysterious  Frenchmen  call  and  want 
to  embrace  me,  suggests  to  any  one  who  knows  me  inti- 
mately, such  infamous  lurking,  slinking,  getting  behind 
doors,  evading,  lying — so  much  mean  resort  to  craven 
flights,  dastard  subterfuges,  and  miserable  poltroonery — 
on  my  part,  that  I merely  suggest  the  arrival  of  cards  like 
this  : 


* Of  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  495 

—and  I then  write  letters  of  terrific  empressement.^  with 
assurances  of  all  sorts  of  profound  considerations,  and 
never  by  any  chance  become  visible  to  the  naked  eye. 

At  the  Porte  St.  Martin  they  are  doing  the  “ Orestes,” 
put  into  French  verse  by  Alexandre  Dumas.  Really  one 
of  the  absurdest  things  I ever  saw.  The  scene  of  the  tomb, 
with  all  manner  of  classical  females,  in  black,  grouping 
themselves  on  the  lid,  and  on  the  steps,  and  on  each  other, 
and  in  every  conceivable  aspect  of  obtrusive  impossibility, 
is  just  like  the  window  of  one  of  those  artists  in  hair,  who 
address  the  friends  of  deceased  persons.  To-morrow  week 
a fete  is  coming  off  at  the  Jardin  d’Hiver,  next  door  but 
one  here,  which  I must  certainly  go  to.  The  fete  of  the 
company  of  the  Folies  Nouvelles  ! The  ladies  of  the  com- 
pany are  to  keep  stalls,  and  are  to  sell  to  Messieurs  the 
Amateurs  orange-water  and  lemonade.  Paul  le  Grand  is 
to  promenade  among  the  company,  dressed  as  Pierrot. 
Kalm,  the  big-faced  comic  singer,  is  to  do  the  like,  dressed 
as  a Russian  Cossack.  The  entertainments  are  to  conclude 
with  ‘‘La  Polka  des  Betes  feroces,  par  la  Troupe  entiere 
des  Folies  Nouvelles.”  I wish,  without  invasion  of  the 

rights  of  British  subjects,  or  risk  of  war,  could  be 

soized  by  French  troops,  brought  over,  and  made  to  assist. 

The  appartement  has  not  grown  any  bigger  since  you  last 
had  the  joy  of  beholding  me,  and  upon  my  honour  and 

word  I live  in  terror  of  asking to  dinner,  lest  she 

should  not  be  able  to  get  in  at  the  dining-room  door.  I 
think  (am  not  sure)  the  dining-room  would  hold  her,  if 
she  could  be  once  passed  in,  but  I don’t  see  my  way  to 


496  LETTERS  OF  Off  ARLES  DLCKENS. 

that.  Nevertheless,  we  manage  our  own  family  dinners 
very  snugly  there,  and  have  good  ones,  as  I think  you  will 
say,  every  day  at  half-past  five. 

I have  a notion  that  we  may  knock  out  a series  of  de- 
scriptions for  H.  W.  without  much  trouble.  It  is  very  diffi- 
cult to  get  into  the  Catacombs,  but  my  name  is  so  well 
known  here  that  I think  I may  succeed.  I find  that  the 
guillotine  can  be  got  set  up  in  private,  like  Punch’s  show. 
What  do  you  think  of  that  for  an  article  ? I find  myself 
underlining  words  constantly.  It  is  not  my  nature.  It  is 
mere  imbecility  after  the  four  hours’  sitting. 

All  unite  in  kindest  remembrances  to  you,  your  mother 
and  brother. 

Ever  cordially. 


[7h  Miss  Mary  Boyle^ 

49,  Champs  Elysees,  Paris,  Jan,  1856. 
My  dear  Mary, 

I am  afraid  you  will  think  me  an  abandoned  ruffian  for 
not  having  acknowledged  your  more  than  handsome  warm- 
hearted letter  before  now.  But,  as  usual,  I have  been  so 
occupied,  and  so  glad  to  get  up  from  my  desk  and  wallow 
in  the  mud  (at  present  about  six  feet  deep  here),  that 
pleasure  correspondence  is  just  the  last  thing  in  the  world 
I have  had  leisure  to  take  to.  Business  correspondence 
with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  and  women,  O my 
Mary  ! is  one  of  the  dragons  I am  perpetually  fighting ; 
and  the  more  I throw  it,  the  more  it  stands  upon  its  hind 
legs,  rampant,  and  throws  me. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


497 


Yes,  on  that  bright  cold  morning  when  I left  Peterboro’, 
I felt  that  the  best  thing  I could  do  was  to  say  that  word 
that  I would  do  anything  in  an  honest  way  to  avoid  say- 
ing, at  one  blow,  and  make  off.  I was  so  sorry  to  leave 
you  all ! You  can  scarcely  imagine  what  a chill  and  blank 
I felt  on  that  Monday  evening  at  Rockingham.  It  was  so 
sad  to  me,  and  engendered  a constraint  so  melancholy  and 
peculiar,  that  I doubt  if  I were  ever  much  more  out  of 
sorts  in  my  life.  Next  morning,  when  it  was  light  and 
sparkling  oufc  of  doors,  I felt  more  at  home  again.  But 
when  I came  in  from  seeing  poor  dear  Watson’s  grave,  Mrs. 
Watson  asked  me  to  go  up  in  the  gallery,  which  I had  last 
seen  in  the  days  of  our  merry  play.  We  went  up,  and 
walked  into  the  very  part  he  had  made  and  was  so  fond 
of,  and  she  looked  out  of  one  window  and  I looked  out  of 
another,  and  for  the  life  of  me  I could  not  decide  in  my 
own  heart  whether  I should  console  or  distress  her  by 
going  and  taking  her  hand,  and  saying  something  of  what 
was  naturally  in  my  mind.  So  I said  nothing,  and  we  came 
out  again,  and  on  the  whole  perhaps  it  was  best  ; for  I 
have  no  doubt  we  understood  each  other  very  well  without 
speaking  a word. 

Sheffield  was  a tremendous  success  and  an  admirable 
audience.  They  made  me  a present  of  table-cutlery  after 
the  reading  was  over  ; and  I came  away  by  the  mail-train 
within  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  changing  my  dress  and 
getting  on  my  wrappers  partly  in  the  fly,  partly  at  the  inn, 
partly  on  the  platform.  When  we  got  among  the  Lincoln- 
shire fens  it  began  to  snow.  That  changed  to  sleet,  that 


49^  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

changed  to  rain  ; the  frost  was  all  gone  as  we  neared  Lon 
don,  and  the  mud  has  all  come.  At  two  or  three  o’clock 
in  the  morning  I stopped  at  Peterboro’  again,  and  thought 
of  you  all  disconsolately.  The  lady  in  the  refreshment- 
room  was  very  hard  upon  me,  harder  even  than  those  fair 
enslavers  usually  are.  She  gave  me  a cup  of  tea,  as  if  I 
were  a hyena  and  she  my  cruel  keeper  with  a strong  dislike 
to  me.  I mingled  my  tears  with  it,  and  had  a petrified  bun 
of  enormous  antiquity  in  miserable  meekness. 

It  is  clear  to  me  that  climates  are  gradually  assimilating 
over  a great  part  of  the  world,  and  that  in  the  most  miser- 
able part  of  our  year  there  is  very  little  to  choose  between 
London  and  Paris,  except  that  London  is  not  so  muddy. 
I have  never  seen  dirtier  or  worse  weather  than  we  have 
had  here  since  I returned.  In  desperation  I went  out  to 
the  Barrieres  last  Sunday  on  a headlong  walk,  and  came 
back  with  my  very  eyebrows  smeared  with  mud.  Geor- 
gina is  usually  invisible  during  the  walking  time  of  the  day. 
A turned-up  nose  may  be  seen  in  the  midst  of  splashes, 
but  nothing  more. 

I am  settling  to  work  again,  and  my  horrible  restlessness 
immediately  assails  me.  It  belongs  to  such  times.  As  I 
was  writing  the  preceding  page,  it  suddenly  came  into  my 
head  that  I would  get  up  and  go  to  Calais.  I don’t  know 
why  ; the  moment  I got  there  I should  want  to  go  some- 
where else.  But,  as  my  friend  the  Boots  says  (see  Christ- 
mas number  Household  Words”):  When  you  come  to 

think  what  a game  you’ve  been  up  to  ever  since  you  was 
in  your  own  cradle,  and  what  a poor  sort  of  a chap  you 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


499 


were,  and  how  it’s  always  yesterday  with  you,  or  else  to- 
morrow, and  never  to-day,  that’s  where  it  is.” 

My  dear  Mary,  would  you  favour  me  with  the  name 
and  address  of  the  professor  that  taught  you  writing,  for  I 
want  to  improve  myself  ? Many  a hand  have  I seen  with 
many  characteristics  of  beauty  in  it — some  loopy,  some 
dashy,  some  large,  some  small,  some  sloping  to  the  right, 
some  sloping  to  the  left,  some  not  sloping  at  all ; but  what 
I like  myour  hand,  Mary,  is  its  plainness,  it  is  like  print. 
Them  as  runs  may  read  just  as  well  as  if  they  stood  still. 
I should  have  thought  it  was  copper-plate  if  I hadn’t 
known  you.  They  send  all  sorts  of  messages  from  here, 
and  so  do  I,  with  my  best  regards  to  Bedgy  and  pardner 
and  the  blessed  babbies.  When  shall  we  meet  again,  I 
wonder,  and  go  somewhere  ! Ah  ! 

Believe  me  ever,  my  dear  Mary, 

Yours  truly  and  affectionately, 

Joe. 

(That  doesn’t  look  plain.) 


JOE. 


\To  Miss  Hogarth?^ 

“Household  Words/'  Friday,  Feb.  %th,  1856. 
My  dear  Georgy, 

I must  write  this  at  railroad  speed,  for  I have  been  at 
it  all  day,  and  have  numbers  of  letters  to  cram  into  the 
next  half' hour.  I began  the  morning  in  the  City,  for  the 
Theatrical  Fund;  went  on  to  Shepherd’s  Bush  ; came 
back  to  leave  cards  for  Mr.  Baring  and  Mr.  Bates  ; ran 


500 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


across  Piccadilly  to  Stratton  Street,  stayed  there  an  hour, 
and  shot  off  here.  I have  been  in  four  cabs  to-day,  at  a 
cost  of  thirteen  shillings.  Am  going  to  dine  with  Mark 
and  Webster  at  half-past  four,  and  finish  the  evening  at 
the  Adelphi. 

The  dinner  was  very  successful.  Charley  was  in  great 
force,  and  floored  Peter  Cunningham  and  the  Audit  Office 
on  a question  about  some  bill  transactions  with  Baring's. 
The  other  guests  were  B.  and  E.,  Shirley  Brooks,  Forster, 
and  that’s  all.  The  dinner  admirable.  I never  had  a 
better.  All  the  wine  I sent  down  from  Tavistock  House. 
Anne  waited,  and  looked  well  and  happy,  very  much 
brighter  altogether.  It  gave  me  great  pleasure  to  see  her 
so  improved.  Just  before  dinner  I got  all  the  letters 
from  home.  They  could  not  have  arrived  more  oppor- 
tunely. 

The  godfather’s  present  looks  charming  now  it  is  en- 
graved, and  John  is  just  now  going  off  to  take  it  to  Mrs. 
Yates.  To-morrow  Wills  and  I are  going  to  Gad’s  Hill. 
It  will  occupy  the  whole  day,  and  will  just  leave  me  time 
to  get  home  to  dress  for  dinner. 

And  that’s  all  that  I have  to  say,  except  that  the  first 
number  of  ''Little  Dorrit  ” has  gone  to  forty  thousand, 
and  the  other  one  fast  following. 

My  best  love  to  Catherine,  and  to  Mamey  and  Katey, 
and  Walter  and  Harry,  and  the  noble  Plorn.  I am 
grieved  to  hear  about  his  black  eye,  and  fear  that  I shall 
find  it  in  the  green  and  purple  state  on  my  return. 

Ever  affectionately. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


501 


The  Humble  Petition  of  Charles  Dickens,  a Dis- 
tressed Foreigner, 

Sheweth, 

That  your  Petitioner  has  not  been  able  to  write  one 
word  to-day,  or  to  fashion  forth  the  dimmest  shade  of  the 
faintest  ghost  of  an  idea. 

That  your  Petitioner  is  therefore  desirous  of  being  taken 
out,  and  is  not  at  all  particular  where. 

That  your  Petitioner,  being  imbecile,  says  no  more. 
But  will  ever,  etc.  (whatever  that  may  be). 

Paris,  March  ^^rdy  1856. 

[7h  Mr.  Douglas  Jerrold?\ 

“Household  Words”  Office,  March  (ith,  1856. 
My  dear  Jerrold, 

Buckstone  has  been  with  me  to-day  in  a state  of  demi- 
semi-distraction,  by  reason  of  Macready’s  dreading  his 
asthma  so  much  as  to  excuse  himself  (of  necessity,  I know) 
from  taking  the  chair  for  the  fund  on  the  occasion  of  their 
next  dinner.  I have  promised  to  back  Buckstone’s  en- 
treaty to  you  to  take  it ; and  although  I know  that  you 
have  an  objection  which  you  once  communicated  to  me,  I 
still  hold  (as  I did  then)  that  it  is  a reason  for  and  not 
against.  Pray  reconsider  the  point.  Your  position  in  con- 
nection with  dramatic  literature  has  always  suggested  to 
me  that  there  would  be  a great  fitness  and  grace  in  your 
appearing  in  this  post.  I am  convinced  that  the  public 
would  regard  it  in  that  light,  and  I particularly  ask  you  to 


502 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


reflect  that  we  never  can  do  battle  with  the  Lords,  if 
we  will  not  bestow  ourselves  to  go  into  places  which  they 
have  long  monopolised.  Now  pray  discuss  this  matter 
with  yourself  once  more.  If  you  can  come  to  a favour- 
able conclusion  I shall  be  really  delighted,  and  will  of 
course  come  from  Paris  to  be  by  you  ; if  you  cannot  come 
to  a favourable  conclusion  I shall  be  really  sorry,  though 
I of  course  most  readily  defer  to  your  right  to  regard  such 
a matter  from  your  own  point  of  view. 

Ever  faithfully  yours. 


\To  Miss  Hogarth^ 

“ Household  Words”  Office,  Tuesday,  March  nth,  1856.* 
My  dear  Georgy, 

I have  been  in  bed  half  the  day  with  my  cold,  which  is 
excessively  violent,  consequently  have  to  write  in  a great 
hurry  to  save  the  post. 

Tell  Catherine  that  I have  the  most  prodigious,  over- 
whelming, crushing,  astounding,  blinding,  deafening,  pul- 
verising, scarifying  secret,  of  which  Forster  is  the  hero, 
imaginable  by  the  whole  efforts  of  the  whole  British  popu- 
lation. It  is  a thing  of  that  kind  that,  after  I knew  it, 
(from  himself)  this  morning,  I lay  down  flat  as  if  an  en- 
gine and  tender  had  fallen  upon  me. 

Love  to  Catherine  (not  a word  of  Forster  before  anyone 
else),  and  to  Mamey,  Katey,  Harry,  and  the  noble  Plorn. 


* This  note  was  written  after  hearing  from  Mr.  Forster  of  his  intended  mar- 
riage. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  . $03 


Tell  Collins  with  my  kind  regards  that  Forster  has  just 
pronounced  to  me  that  Collins  is  a decidedly  clever  fel- 
low.’' I hope  he  is  a better  fellow  in  health,  too. 

Ever  affectionately. 

\^To  Miss  Hogarth?^ 

“ Household  Words,”  Friday,  March  14M,  1856. 
My  dear  Georgy, 

I am  amazed  to  hear  of  the  snow  (I  don’t  know  why, 
but  it  excited  John  this  morning  beyond  measure)  ; though 
we  have  had  the  same  east  wind  here,  and  the  cold  and  my 
cold  have  both  been  intense. 

Yesterday  evening  Webster,  Mark,  Stanny,  and  I went 
to  the  Olympic,  where  the  Wigans  ranged  us  in  a row  in 
a gorgeous  and  immense  private  box,  and  where  we  saw 

Still  Waters  Run  Deep.”  I laughed  (in  a conspicuous 
manner)  to  that  extent  at  Emery,  when  he  received  the 
dinner-company,  that  the  people  were  more  amused  by  me 
than  by  the  piece.  I don’t  think  I ever  saw  anything 
meant  to  be  funny  that  struck  me  as  so  extraordinarily  droll. 
I couldn’t  get  over  it  at  all.  After  the  piece  we  went 
round,  by  Wigan’s  invitation,  to  drink  with  him.  It  being 
positively  impossible  to  get  Stanny  otf  the  stage,  we  stood 
in  the  wings  during  the  burlesque.  Mrs.  Wigan  seemed 
really  glad  to  see  her  old  manager,  and  the  company  over- 
whelmed him  with  embraces.  They  had  nearly  all  been 
at  the  meeting  in  the  morning. 

I have  seen  Charley  only  twice  since  I came  to  London, 


504 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


having  regularly  been  in  bed  until  mid-day.  To  my  amaze- 
ment, my  eye  fell  upon  him  at  the  Adelphi  yesterday. 

This  day  I have  paid  the  purchase-money  for  Gad’s 
Hill  Place.  After  drawing  the  cheque,  I turned  round  to 
give  it  to  Wills  (;^i,79o),  and  said:  Now  isn’t  it  an 

extraordinary  thing — look  at  the  day — Friday  ! I have 
been  nearly  drawing  it  half-a-dozen  times,  when  the  lawyers 
have  not  been  ready,  and  here  it  comes  round  upon  a 
Friday,  as  a matter  of  course.” 

Kiss  the  ngble  Plorn  a dozen  times  for  me,  and  tell  him 
I drank  his  health  yesterday,  and  wished  him  many  happy 
returns  of  the  day  ; also  that  I hope  he  will  not  have 
broken  all  his  toys  before  I come  back. 

Ever  affectionately. 


\To  Mr,  W.  C.  Macreatfy.] 

49,  Champs  Elysees,  Paris,  Saturday,  March  22nd,  1856. 
My  dear  Macready, 

I want  you — you  being  quite  well  again,  as  I trust  you 
are,  and  resolute  to  come  to  Paris — so  to  arrange  your 
order  of  march  as  to  let  me  know  beforehand  when  you 
will  come,  and  how  long  you  will  stay.  We  owe  Scribe 
and  his  wife  a dinner,  and  I should  like  to  pay  the  debt 
when  you  are  with  us.  Ary  Scheffer  too  would  be  de- 
lighted to  see  you  again.  If  I could  arrange  for  a certain 
day  I would  secure  them.  We  cannot  afford  (you  and  I, 
I mean)  to  keep  much  company,  because  we  shall  have  to 
look  in  at  a theatre  or  so,  I daresay  ! 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


505 


It  would  suit  my  work  best,  if  I could  keep  myself  clear 
until  Monday,  the  7th  of  April.  But  in  case  that  day 
should  be  too  late  for  the  beginning  of  your  brief  visit  with 
a deference  to  any  other  engagements  you  have  in  contem- 
plation, then  fix  an  earlier  one,  and  I will  make  Little 
Dorrit ''  curtsy  to  it.  My  recent  visit  to  London  and  my 
having  only  just  now  come  back  have  thrown  me  a little 
behindhand  ; but  I hope  to  come  up  with  a wet  sail  in  a 
few  days. 

You  should  have  seen  the  ruins  of  Covent  Garden 
Theatre.  I went  in  the  moment  I got  to  London — four 
days  after  the  fire.  Although  the  audience  part  and  the 
stage  were  so  tremendously  burnt  out  that  there  was  not  a 
piece  of  wood  half  the  size  of  a lucifer-match  for  the  eye 
to  rest  on,  though  nothing  whatever  remained  but  bricks 
and  smelted  iron  lying  on  a great  black  desert,  the  theatre 
still  looked  so  wonderfully  like  its  old  self  grown  gigantic 
that  I never  saw  so  strange  a sight.  The  wall  dividing  the 
front  from  the  stage  still  remained,  and  the  iron  pass-doors 
stood  ajar  in  an  impossible  and  inaccessible  frame.  The 
arches  that  supported  the  stage  were  there,  and  the  arches 
that  supported  the  pit ; and  in  the  centre  of  the  latter  lay 
\ something  like  a Titanic  grape-vine  that  a hurricane  had 
pulled  up  by  the  roots,  twisted,  and  flung  down  there  ; 
this  was  the  great  chandelier.  Gye  had  kept  the  men’s 
wardrobe  at  the  top  of  the  house  over  the  great  entrance 
staircase  ; when  the  roof  fell  in  it  came  down  bodily,  and 
all  that  part  of  the  ruins  was  like  an  old  Babylonic  pave- 
ment, bright  rays  tesselating  the  black  ground,  sometimes 
VoL.  I. — 22 


5o6  letters  of  Charles  dlckens. 


/ 


in  pieces  so  large  that  I could  make  out  the  clothes  in  the 
^^Trovatore.” 

I should  run  on  for  a couple  of  hours  if  I had  to  de- 
scribe the  spectacle  as  I saw  it,  wherefore  I will  immedi- 
ately muzzle  myself.  All  here  unite  in  kindest  loves  to 
dear  Miss  Macready,  to  Katie,  Lillie,  Benvenuta,  my  god- 
son, and  the  noble  Johnny.  We  are  charmed  to  hear  such 
happy  accounts  of  Willy  and  Ned,  and  send  our  loving 
remembrance  to  them  in  the  next  letters.  All  Parisian 
novelties  you  shall  see  and  hear  for  yourself. 

Ever,  my  dearest  Macready, 

Your  affectionate  Friend. 

P.S. — Mr.  F.'s  aunt  sends  her  defiant  respects. 

[7h  Mr.  W.  C,  Macready^ 

49,  Avenue  des  Champs  Elysees,  Paris, 

Thursday  Nighty  March  2"]th,  1856  (after post  time). 
My  dearest  Macready, 

If  I had  had  any  idea  of  your  coming  (see  how  natur- 
ally I use  the  word  when  I am  three  hundred  miles  off !) 
to  London  so  soon,  I would  never  have  written  one  word 
about  the  jump  over  next  week.  I am  vexed  that  I did 
so,  but  as  I did  I will  not  now  propose  a change  in  the  ar- 
rangements, as  I know  how  methodical  you  tremendously 
old  fellows  are.  That’s  your  secret  I suspect.  That’s  the 
way  in  which  the  blood  of  the  Mirabels  mounts  in  your 
aged  veins,  even  at  your  time  of  life. 

How  charmed  I shall  be  to  see  you,  and  we  all  shall  be. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


507 


I will  not  attempt  to  say.  On  that  expected  Sunday  you 
will  lunch  at  Amiens  but  not  dine,  because  we  shall  wait 
dinner  for  you,  and  you  will  merely  have  to  tell  that  driver 
in  the  glazed  hat  to  come  straight  here.  When  the  W^hites 
left  I added  their  little  apartment  to  this  little  apartment, 
consequently  you  shall  have  a snug  bedroom  (is  it  not 
waiting  expressly  for  you  ?)  overlooking  the  Champs  Ely- 
sees.  As  to  the  arm-chair  in  my  heart,  no  man  on  earth 
but,  good  God  ! you  know  all  about  it. 

You  will  find  us  in  the  queerest  of  little  rooms  all  alone, 
except  that  the  son  of  Collins  the  painter  (who  writes  a 
good  deal  in  Household  Words  dines  with  us  every 
day.  Scheffer  and  Scribe  shall  be  admitted  for  one  even- 
ing, because  they  know  how  to  appreciate  you.  The 
Emperor  we  will  not  ask  unless  you  expressly  wish  it  ; it 
makes  a fuss. 

If  you  have  no  appointed  hotel  at  Boulogne,  go  to  the 
Hotel  des  Bains,  there  demand  Marguerite,’'  and  tell  her 
that  I commended  you  to  her  special  care.  It  is  the  best 
house  within  my  experience  in  France  ; Marguerite  the 
best  housekeeper  in  the  world. 

I shall  charge  at  Little  Dorrit  ” to-morrow  with  new 
spirits.  The  sight  of  you  is  good  for  my  boyish  eyes,  and 
the  thought  of  you  for  my  dawning  mind.  Give  the  en- 
closed lines  a welcome,  then  send  them  on  to  Sherborne. 

Ever  yours  most  affectionately  and  truly. 


508  LETTERS  OF  C/LA  REES  DICKENS. 


IToMr.  W.H.  Wills.] 

49,  Champs  Elysees,  Paris,  Sunday ^ April  tth,  1856. 
My  dear  Wills, 

Christmas. 

Collins  and  I have  a mighty  original  notion  (mine  in  the 
beginning)  for  another  play  at  Tavistock  House.  I pro- 
pose opening  on  Twelfth  Night  the  theatrical  season  of 
that  great  establishment.  But  now  a tremendous  ques- 
tion. Is 

Mrs.  Wills  ! 


game  to  do  a Scotch  housekeeper,  in  a supposed  country- 
house,  with  Mary,  Katey,  Georgina,  etc.  ? If  she  can  screw 
her  courage  up  to  saying  “Yes,”  that  country-house  opens 
the  piece  in  a singular  way,  and  that  Scotch  housekeeper’s 
part  shall  flow  from  the  present  pen.  If  she  says  “ No  ” 
(but  she  won’t),  no  Scotch  housekeeper  can  be.  The 
Tavistock  House  season  of  four  nights  pauses  for  a reply. 
Scotch  song  (new  and  original)  of  Scotch  housekeeper 
would  pervade  the  piece. 

You 


had  better  pause  for  breath. 

Poole. 


Ever  faithfully. 


. I have  paid  him  his  money.  Here  is  the  proof  of  life. 
If  you  will  get  me  the  receipt  to  sign,  the  money  can  go  to 
my  account  at  Coutts’s. 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


509 


\To  Mrs.  Charles  Dickens 

Tavistock  House,  Monday,  May  1856. 
My  dear  Catherine, 

I did  nothing  at  Dover  (except  for  Household  Words”), 
and  have  not  begun  Little  Dorrit,”  No.  8,  yet.  But  I 
took  twenty-mile  walks  in  the  fresh  air,  and  perhaps  in  the 
long  run  did  better  than  if  I had  been  at  work.  The 
report  concerning  Scheffer’s  portrait  I had  from  Ward.  It 
is  in  the  best  place  in  the  largest  room,  but  I find  the  gen- 
eral  impression  of  the  artists  exactly  mine.  They  almost 
all  say  that  it  wants  something  ; that  nobody  could  mis- 
take whom  it  was  meant  for,  but  that  it  has  something  dis- 
appointing in  it,  etc.  etc.  Stanfield  likes  it  better  than 
any  of  the  other  painters,  I think.  His  own  picture  is 
magnificent.  And  Frith,  in  a Little  Child’s  Birthday 
Party,”  is  quite  delightful.  There  are  many  interesting 
pictures.  When  you  see  Scheffer,  tell  him  from  me  that 
Eastlake,  in  his  speech  at  the  dinner,  referred  to  the  por- 
trait as  a contribution  from  a distinguished  man  of  genius 
in  France,  worthy  of  himself  and  of  his  subject.” 

I did  the  maddest  thing  last  night,  and  am  deeply  peni- 
tent this  morning.  We  stayed  at  Webster’s  till  any  hour, 
and  they  wanted  me,  at  last,  to  make  punch,  which  couldn’t 
be  done  when  the  jug  was  brought,  because  (to  Webster’s 
burning  indignation)  there  was  only  one  lemon  in  the 
house.  Hereupon  I then  and  there  besought  the  establish- 
ment in  general  to  come  and  drink  punch  on  Thursday 
night,  after  the  play  ; on  which  occasion  it  will  become 


510 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


necessary  to  furnish  fully  the  table  with  some  cold  viands 
from  Fortnum  and  Mason’s.  Mark  has  looked  in  since  I 
began  this  note,  to  suggest  that  the  great  festival  may 
come  off  at  Household  Words  ” instead.  I am  inclined 
to  think  it  a good  idea,  and  that  I shall  transfer  the  locality 
to  that  business  establishment.  But  I am  at  present  dis- 
tracted with  doubts  and  torn  by  remorse. 

The  school-room  and  dining-room  I have  brought  into 
habitable  condition  and  comfortable  appearance.  Charley 
and  I breakfast  at  half-past  eight,  and  meet  again  at  din- 
ner when  he  does  not  dine  in  the  City,  or  has  no  engage- 
ment. He  looks  very  well. 

The  audiences  at  Gye’s  are  described  to  me  as  absolute 
marvels  of  coldness.  No  signs  of  emotion  can  be  ham- 
mered out  of  them.  Panizzi  sat  next  me  at  the  Academy 

dinner,  and  took  it  very  ill  that  I disparaged . The 

amateurs  here  are  getting  up  another  pantomime,  but 
quarrel  so  violently  among  themselves  that  I doubt  its  ever 
getting  on  the  stage.  Webster  expounded  his  scheme  for 
rebuilding  the  Adelphi  to  Stanfield  and  myself  last  night, 
and  I felt  bound  to  tell  him  that  I thought  it  wrong  from 
beginning  to  end.  This  is  all  the  theatrical  news  I know. 

I write  by  this  post  to  Georgy.  Love  to  Mamey,  Katey, 
Harry,  and  the  noble  Plorn.  I should  be  very  glad  to  see 
him  here. 


Ever  affectionately. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


Sii 


\^To  Miss  Hogarth.\ 

Tavistock  House,  Monday,  May  1856. 
My  dear  Georgy, 

You  will  not  be  much  surprised  to  hear  that  I have 
done  nothing  yet  (except  for  H.  W.),  and  have  only  just 
settled  down  into  a corner  of  the  school-room.  The  ex- 
tent to  which  John  and  I wallowed  in  dust  for  four  hours 
yesterday  morning,  getting  things  neat  and  comfortable 
about  us,  you  may  faintly  imagine.  At  four  in  the  after- 
noon came  Stanfield,  to  whom  I no  sooner  described  the 
notion  of  the  new  play,  than  he  immediately  upset  all  my 
new  arrangements  by  making  a proscenium  of  the  chairs, 
and  planning  the  scenery  with  walking-sticks.  One  of  the 
least  things  he  did  was  getting  on  the  top  of  the  long 
table,  and  hanging  over  the  bar  in  the  middle  window 
where  that  top  sash  opens,  as  if  he  had  got  a hinge  in 
the  middle  of  his  body.  He  is  immensely  excited  on  the 
subject.  Mark  had  a farce  ready  for  the  managerial  pe- 
rusal, but  it  won’t  do. 

I went  to  the  Dover  theatre  on  Friday  night,  which  was 
a miserable  spectacle.  The  pit  is  boarded  over,  and  it  is 
a drinking  and  smoking  place.  It  was  for  the  benefit  of 
Mrs. ,”  and  the  town  had  been  very  extensively  pla- 

carded with  Don’t  forget  Friday.”  .1  made  out  four  and 
ninepence  (I  am  serious)  in  the  house,  when  I went  in. 
We  may  have  warmed  up  in  the  course  of  the  evening  to 
twelve  shillings.  A Jew  played  the  grand  piano  ; Mrs. 


$12  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

sang  no  end  of  songs  (with  not  a bad  voice,  poor  creature) ; 

Mr. sang  comic  songs  fearfully,  and  danced  clog 

hornpipes  capitally  ; and  a miserable  woman,  shivering  in 
a shawl  and  bonnet,  sat  in  the  side-boxes  all  the  evening, 

nursing  Master , aged  seven  months.  It  was  a most 

forlorn  business,  and  I should  have  contributed  a sovereign 
to  the  treasury,  if  I had  known  how.  ■ 

I walked  to  Deal  and  back  that  day,  and  on  the  pre-  . 
vious  day  walked  over  the  downs  towards  Canterbury  in  a 
gale  of  wind.  It  was  better  than  still  weather  after  all, 
being  wonderfully  fresh  and  free. 

If  the  Plorn  were  sitting  at  this  school-room  window  in 
the  corner,  he  would  see  more  cats  in  an  hour  than  he 
ever  saw  in  his  life.  I never  saw  so  many,  I think,  as  I 
have  seen  since  yesterday  morning. 

There  is  a painful  picture  of  a great  deal  of  merit  (Egg 
has  bought  it)  in  the  exhibition,  painted  by  the  man  who 
did  those  little  interiors  of  Forster’s.  It  is  called  “The 
Death  of  Chatterton.”  The  dead  figure  is  a good  deal  like 
Arthur  Stone  ; and  I was  touched  on  Saturday  to  see  that 
tender  old  file  standing  before  it,  crying  under  his  spec- 
tacles at  the  idea  of  seeing  his  son  dead.  It  was  a very 
tender  manifestation  of  his  gentle  old  heart. 

This  sums  up  my  news,  which  is  no  news  at  all.  Kiss 
the  Plorn  for  me,  and  expound  to  him  that  I am  always 
looking  forward  to  meeting  him  again,  among  the  birds 
and  flowers  in  the  garden  on  the  side  of  the  hill  at  Bou-  < 
logne. 


Ever  affectionately. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


513 


[ To  the  Duke  of  Devonshire?^ 

Tavistock  House,  Sunday,  June  1st,  1856. 
My  dear  Duke  of  Devonshire, 

Allow  me  to  thank  you  with  all  my  heart  for  your  kind 
remembrance  of  me  on  Thursday  night.  My  house  was 
already  engaged  to  Miss  Coutts’s,  and  I to — the  top  of  St. 
Paul’s,  where  the  sight  was  most  wonderful  ! But  seeing 
that  your  cards  gave  me  leave  to  present  some  person  not 
named,  I conferred  them  on  my  excellent  friend  Dr.  Elliot- 
son,  whom  I found  with  some  fireworkless  little  boys  in  a 
desolate  condition,  and  raised  to  the  seventh  heaven  of 
happiness.  You  are  so  fond  of  making  people  happy,  that 
I am  sure  you  approve. 

Always  your  faithful  and  much  obliged. 

{To  Mr.  W.  Wilkie  Collins? 

Tavistock  House,  June  6th,  1856. 

My  dear  Collins, 

I have  never  seen  anything  about  myself  in  print  which 
has  much  correctness  in  it — any  biographical  account  of 
myself  I mean.  I do  not  supply  such  particulars  when  I 
am  asked  for  them  by  editors  and  compilers,  simply  be- 
cause I am  asked  for  them  every  day.  If  you  want  to 
prime  Forgues,  you  may  tell  him  without  fear  of  anything 
wrong,  that  I was  born  at  Portsmouth  on  the  7th  of  Feb- 
ruary, 1812  ; that  my  father  was  in  the  Navy  Pay  Office  ; 
that  I was  taken  by  him  to  Chatham  when  I was  very 
young,  and  lived  and  was  educated  there  till  I was  twelve 

VOL.  1.-22* 


5 14  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 

or  thirteen,  I suppose  ; that  I was  then  put  to  a school 
near  London,  where  (as  at  other  places)  I distinguished 
myself  like  a brick  ; that  I was  put  in  the  office  of  a solici- 
tor, a friend  of  my  father’s,  and  didn’t  much  like  it ; and 
after  a couple  of  years  (as  well  as  I can  remember)  applied 
myself  with  a celestial  or  diabolical  energy  to  the  study  of 
such  things  as  would  qualify  me  to  be  a first-rate  parlia- 
mentary reporter — at  that  time  a calling  pursued  by  many 
clever  men  who  were  young  at  the  Bar  ; that  I made  my 
debut  in  the  gallery  (at  about  eighteen,  I suppose),  engaged 
on  a voluminous  publication  no  longer  in  existence,  called 
The  Mirror  of  Parlia7nent ; that  when  The  Morning  Chron- 
icle was  purchased  by  Sir  John  Easthope  and  acquired  a 
large  circulation,  I was  engaged  there,  and  that  I remained 
there  until  I had  begun  to  publish  Pickwick,”  when  I 
found  myself  in  a condition  to  relinquish  that  part  of  my 
labours  ; that  I left  the  reputation  behind  me  of  being  the 
best  and  most  rapid  reporter  ever  known,  and  that  I could 
do  anything  in  that  way  under  any  sort  of  circumstances, 
and  often  did.  (I  daresay  I am  at  this  present  writing  the 
best  shorthand  writer  in  the  world.) 

That  I began,  without  any  interest  or  introduction  of 
any  kind,  to  write  fugitive  pieces  for  the  old  ‘‘  Monthly 
Magazine,”  when  I was  in  the  gallery  for  The  Mirror  of 
Parliame7tt ; that  my  faculty  for  descriptive  writing  was 
seized  upon  the  moment  I joined  The  Mornmg  Chro77icle,, 
and  that  I was  liberally  paid  there  and  handsomely  ac- 
knowledged, and  wrote  the  greater  part  of  the  short  de- 
scriptive Sketches  by  Boz  ” in  that  paper  ; that  I had 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICICENS. 


515 


been  a writer  when  I was  a mere  baby,  and  always  an 
actor  from  the  same  age  ; that  I married  the  daughter  of 
a writer  to  the  signet  in  Edinburgh,  who  was  the  great 
friend  and  assistant  of  Scott,  and  who  first  made  Lockhart 
known  to  him. 

And  that  here  I am. 

Finally,  if  you  want  any  dates  of  publication  of  books, 
tell  Wills  and  he’ll  get  them  for  you. 

This  is  the  first  time  I ever  set  down  even  these  par- 
ticulars, and,  glancing  them  over,  I feel  like  a wild  beast 
in  a caravan  describing  himself  in  the  keeper’s  absence. 

Ever  faithfully. 

P.S. — I made  a speech  last  night  at  the  London  Tavern, 
at  the  end  of  which  all  the  company  sat  holding  their  nap- 
kins to  their  eyes  with  one  hand,  and  putting  the  other 
into  their  pockets.  A hundred  people  or  so  contributed 
nine  hundred  pounds  then  and  there. 

[7b  Mr,  Mark  Lemon. ^ 

Villa  des  Moulineaux,  Boulogne,  ^ 

Sunday^  yune  1856.  ! 

My  dear  old  Boy, 

This  place  is  beautiful — a burst  of  roses.  Your  friend 
Beaucourt  (who  will  not  put  on  his  hat),  has  thinned  the 
trees  and  greatly  improved  the  garden.  Upon  my  life,  I 
believe  there  are  at  least  twenty  distinct  smoking-spots 
expressly  made  in  it. 

And  as  soon  as  you  can  see  your  day  in  next  month  for 
coming  over  with  Stanny  and  Webster,  will  you  let  them 


5i6  letters  of  Charles  dickens. 


both  know  ? I should  not  be  very  much  surprised  if  I 
were  to  come  over  and  fetch  you,  when  I know  what  your 
day  is.  Indeed,  I don't  see  how  you  could  get  across  prop- 
erly without  me. 

There  is  a fete  here  to-night  in  honour  of  the  Imperial 
baptism,  and  there  will  be  another  to-morrow.  The  Plorn 
has  put  on  two  bits  of  ribbon  (one  pink  and  one  blue), 
which  he  calls  ^‘companys,"  to  celebrate  the  occasion. 
The  fact  that  the  receipts  of  the  fetes  are  to  be  given  to 
the  sufferers  by  the  late  floods  reminds  me  that  you  will 
find  at  the  passport  office  a tin-box  condescendingly  and 
considerately  labelled  in  English  : 

For  the  Overflowings, 

which  the  chief  officer  clearly  believes  to  mean,  for  the 
sufferers  from  the  inundations. 

I observe  more  Mingles  in  the  laundresses'  shops,  and 
one  inscription,  which  looks  like  the  name  of  a duet  or 
chorus  in  a playbill,  “ Here  they  mingle." 

Will  you  congratulate  Mrs.  Lemon,  with  our  loves,  on 
her  gallant  victory  over  the  recreant  cabman  ? 

Walter  has  turned  up,  rather  brilliant  on  the  whole  ; and 
that  (with  shoals  of  remembrances  and  messages  which  I 
don't  deliver)  is  all  my  present  intelligence. 

Ever  affectionately. 

[Zh  Mr.  Mark  Lemon 


H.  W.  Office,  July  2.nd,  1856. 


My  dear  Mark, 

I am  concerned  to  hear  that  you  are  ill,  that  you  sit 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


517 


down  before  fires  and  shiver,  and  that  you  have  stated 
times  for  doing  so,  like  the  demons  in  the  melodramas, 
and  that  you  mean  to  take  a week  to  get  well  in. 

Make  haste  about  it,  like  a dear  fellow,  and  keep  up 
your  spirits,  because  I have  made  a bargain  with  Stanny 
and  Webster  that  they  shall  come  to  Boulogne  to-morrow 
week,  Thursday  the  loth,  and  stay  a week.  And  you 
know  how  much  pleasure  we  shall  all  miss  if  you  are  not 
among  us — at  least  for  some  part  of  the  time. 

If  you  find  any  unusually  light  appearance  in  the  air  at 
Brighton,  it  is  a distant  refraction  (I  have  no  doubt)  of  the 
gorgeous  and  shining  surface  of  Tavistock  House,  now 
transcendently  painted.  The  theatre  partition  is  put  up, 
and  IS  a work  of  such  terrific  solidity,  that  I suppose  it 
will  be  dug  up,  ages  hence,  from  the  ruins  of  London,  by 
that  Australian  of  Macaulay's  who  is  to  be  impressed  by 
its  ashes.  I have  wandered  through  the  spectral  halls  of 
the  Tavistock  mansion  two  nights,  with  feelings  of  the 
profoundest  depression.  I have  breakfasted  there,  like  a 
criminal  in  Pentonville  (only  not  so  well).  It  is  more  like 
Westminster  Abbey  by  midnight  than  the  lowest-spirited 
man — say  you  at  present  for  example — can  well  imagine. 

There  has  been  a wonderful  robbery  at  Folkestone,  by 
the  new  manager  of  the  Pavilion,  who  succeeded  Giovan- 
nini.  He  had  in  keeping  6,000  of  a foreigner's,  and 
bolted  with  it,  as  he  supposed,  but  in  reality  with  only 
^1,400  of  it.  The  Frenchman  had  previously  bolted  with 
the  whole,  which  was  the  property  of  his  mother.  With 
him  to  England  the  Frenchman  brought  a lady,"  who 


518 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


was,  all  the  time  and  at  the  same  time,  endeavouring  to 
steal  all  the  money  from  him  and  bolt  with  it  herself.  The 
details  are  amazing,  and  all  the  money  (a  few  pounds  ex- 
cepted) has  been  got  back. 

They  will  be  full  of  sympathy  and  talk  about  you  when 
I get  home,  and  I shall  tell  them  that  I send  their  loves 
beforehand.  They  are  all  enclosed.  The  moment  you 
feel  hearty,  just  write  me  that  word  by  post.  I shall  be 
so  delighted  to  receive  it. 

Ever,  my  dear  Boy,  your  affectionate  Friend. 

[ To  Mr.  Walter  Savage  Landorl\ 

Villa  des  Moulineaux,  Boulogne, 

Saturday  Evenings  1856. 

My  dear  Landor, 

I write  to  you  so  often  in  my  books,  and  my  writing  of 
letters  is  usually  so  confined  to  the  numbers  that  I must 
write,  and  in  which  I have  no  kind  of  satisfaction,  that  I 
am  afraid  to  think  how  long  it  is  since  we  exchanged  a 
direct  letter.  But  talking  to  your  namesake  this  very  day 
at  dinner,  it  suddenly  entered  my  head  that  I would  com^e 
into  my  room  here  as  soon  as  dinner  should  be  over,  and 
write,  My  dear  Landor,  how  are  you  ? for  the  pleasure 
of  having  the  answer  under  your  own  hand.  That  you 
do  write,  and  that  pretty  often,  I know  beforehand.  Else 
why  do  I read  The  Examiner  ? 

We  were  in  Paris  from  October  to  May  (I  perpetually 
flying  between  that  city  and  London),  and  there  we  found 
out,  by  a blessed  accident,  that  your  godson  was  horribly 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


519 


deaf.  I immediately  consulted  the  principal  physician  of 
the  Deaf  and  Dumb  Institution  there  (one  of  the  best 
aurists  in  Europe),  and  he  kept  the  boy  for  three  months, 
and.  tpok  unheard-of  pains  with  him.  He  is  now  quite 
recovered,  has  done  extremely  well  at  school,  has  brought 
home  a prize  in  triumph,  and  will  be  eligible  to  go  up 
for  his  India  examination  soon  after  next  Easter.  Having 
a direct  appointment,  he  will  probably  be  sent  out  soon 
after  he  has  passed,  and  so  will  fall  into  that  strange  life 
up  the  country,''  before  he  well  knows  he  is  alive,  which 
indeed  seems  to  be  rather  an  advanced  stage  of  knowl- 
edge. 

And  there  in  Paris,  at  the  same  time,  I found  Margue- 
rite Power  and  Little  Nelly,  living  with  their  mother  and 
a pretty  sister,  in  a very  small,  neat  apartment,  and  work- 
ing (as  Marguerite  told  me)  hard  for  a living.  All  that  I 
saw  of  them  filled  me  with  respect,  and  revived  the  ten- 
derest  remembrances  of  Gore  House.  They  are  coming 
to  pass  two  or  three  weeks  here  for  a country  rest,  next 
month.  We  had  many  long  talks  concerning  Gore  House, 
and  all  its  bright  associations  ; and  I can  honestly  report 
that  they  hold  no  one  in  more  gentle  and  affectionate  re- 
membrance than  you.  Marguerite  is  still  handsome,  though 
she  had  the  smallpox  two  or  three  years  ago,  and  bears 
the  traces  of  it  here  and  there,  by  daylight.  Poor  little 
Nelly  (the  quicker  and  more  observant  of  the  two)  shows 
some  little  tokens  of  a broken-off  marriage  in  a face  too 
careworn  for  her  years,  but  is  a very  winning  and  sensible 
creature. 


520 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


We  are  expecting  Mary  Boyle  too,  shortly. 

I have  just  been  propounding  to  Forster  if  it  is  not  a 
wonderful  testimony  to  the  homely  force  of  truth,  that  one 
of  the  most  popular  books  on  earth  has  nothing  in^  it  to 
make  anyone  laugh  or  cry  ? Yet  I think,  with  some  con- 
fidence, that  you  never  did  either  over  any  passage  in 
‘^Robinson  Crusoe.''  In  particular,  I took  Friday's  death 
as  one  of  the  least  tender  and  (in  the  true  sense)  least 
sentimental  things  ever  written.  It  is  a book  I read  very 
much  ; and  the  wonder  of  its  prodigious  effect  on  me  and 
everyone,  and  the  admiration  thereof,  grows  on  me  the 
more  I observe  this  curious  fact. 

Kate  and  Georgina  send  you  their  kindest  loves,  and 
smile  approvingly  on  me  from  the  next  room,  as  I bend 
over  my  desk.  My  dear  Landor,  you  see  many  I daresay, 
and  hear  from  many  I have  no  doubt,  who  love  you 
heartily  ; but  we  silent  people  in  the  distance  never  forget 
you.  Do  not  forget  us,  and  let  us  exchange  affection  at 
least. 

Ever  your  Admirer  and  Friend. 


[7b  the  Duke  of  Devonshire?^ 

Villa  des  Moulineaux,  near  Boulogne, 

Saturday  Nighty  July  Sthj  1856. 

My  dear  Duke  of  Devonshire, 

From  this  place  where  I am  writing  my  way  through 
the  summer,  in  the  midst  of  rosy  gardens  and  sea  airs,  I 
cannot  forbear  writing  to  tell  you  with  what  uncommon 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS.  521 

pleasure  I received  your  interesting  letter,  and  how  sensi- 
ble I always  am  of  your  kindness  and  generosity.  You 
were  always  in  the  mind  of  my  household  during 
your  illness  ; and  to  have  so  beautiful,  and  fresh,  and 
manly  an  assurance  of  your  recovery  from  it,  under  your 
own  hand,  is  a privilege  and  delight  that  I will  say  no 
more  of. 

I am  so  glad  you  like  Flora.  It  came  into  my  head 
one  day  that  we  have  all  had  our  Floras,  and  that  it  was 
a half-serious,  half-ridiculous  truth  which  had  never  been 
told.  It  is  a wonderful  gratification  to  me  to  find  that 
everybody  knows  her.  Indeed,  some  people  seem  to  think 
I have  done  them  a personal  injury,  and  that  their  indi- 
vidual Floras  (God  knows  where  they  are,  or  who !)  are 
each  and  all  Little  Dorrit’s. 

We  were  all  grievously  disappointed  that  you  were  ill 
when  we  played  Mr.  Collins’s  “ Lighthouse  ” at  my  house. 
If  you  had  been  well,  I should  have  waited  upon  you  with 
my  humble  petition  that  you  would  come  and  see  it ; and 
if  you  had  come  I think  you  would  have  cried,  which 
would  have  charmed  me.  I hope  to  produce  another  play 
at  home  next  Christmas,  and  if  I can  only  persuade  you 
to  see  it  from  a special  arm-chair,  and  can  only  make  you 
wretched,  my  satisfaction  will  be  intense.  May  I tell  you, 
to  beguile  a moment,  of  a little  Tag,”  or  end  of  a piece, 
I saw  in  Paris  this  last  winter,  which  struck  me  as  the  pret- 
tiest I had  ever  met  with  ? The  piece  was  not  a new  one, 
but  a revival  at  the  Vaudeville — ^‘Les  Memoires  du  Lia- 
ble.” Admirably  constructed,  very  interesting  and  ex- 


522 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


tremely  well  played.  The  plot  is,  that  a certain  M.  Robin 
has  come  into  possession  of  the  papers  of  a deceased  law- 
yer, and  finds  some  relating  to  the  wrongful  withholding 
of  an  estate  from  a certain  baroness,  and  to  certain  other 
frauds  (involving  even  the  denial  of  the  marriage  to 
the  deceased  baron,  and  the  tarnishing  of  his  good  name) 
which  are  so  very  wicked  that  he  binds  them  up  in  a book 
and  labels  them  “ Memoires  du  Diable.”  Armed  with  this 
knowledge  he  goes  down  to  the  desolate  old  chateau  in 
the  country — part  of  the  wrested-away  estate — from  which 
the  baroness  and  her  daughter  are  going  to  be  ejected. 
He  informs  the  mother  that  he  can  right  her  and  restore 
the  property,  but  must  have,  as  his  reward,  her  daughter’s 
hand  in  marriage.  She  replies  : I cannot  promise  my 

daughter  to  a man  of  whom  I know  nothing.  The  gain 
would  be  an  unspeakable  happiness,  but  I resolutely  de- 
cline the  bargain.”  The  daughter,  however,  has  observed 
all,  and  she  comes  forward  and  says  : Do  what  you  have 

promised  my  mother  you  can  do,  and  I am  yours.”  Then 
the  piece  goes  on  to  its  development,  in  an  admirable 
way,  through  the  unmasking  of  all  the  hypocrites.  Now, 
M.  Robin,  partly  through  his  knowledge  of  the  secret  ways 
of  the  old  chateau  (derived  from  the  lawyer’s  papers),  and 
partly  through  his  going  to  a masquerade  as  the  devil — 
the  better  to  explode  what  he  knows  on  the  hypocrites — is 
supposed  by  the  servants  at  the  chateau  really  to  be  the 
devil.  At  the  opening  of  the  last  act  he  suddenly  appears 
there  before  the  young  lady,  and  she  screams,  but,  recov- 
ering and  laughing,  says : ‘‘You  are  not  really  the ? ” 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCICENS, 


523 


“ Oh  dear  no  ! ” he  replies,  ^^have  no  connection  with  him. 
But  these  people  down  here  are  so  frightened  and  absurd  ! 
See  this  little  toy  on  the  table  ; I open  it  ; here’s  a little 
bell.  They  have  a notion  that  whenever  this  bell  rings  I 
shall  appear.  Very  ignorant,  is  it  not  ? ” ‘‘  Very,  indeed,” 

says  she.  Well,”  says  M.  Robin,  if  you  should  want  me 
very  much  to  appear,  try  the  bell,  if  only  for  a jest.  Will 
you  promise  ? ” Yes,  she  promises,  and  the  play  goes  on. 
At  last  he  has  righted  the  baroness  completely,  and  has 
only  to  hand  her  the  last  document,  which  proves  her 
marriage  and  restores  her  good  name.  Then  he  says  : 

Madame,  in  the  progress  of  these  endeavours  I have 
learnt  the  happiness  of  doing  good  for  its  own  sake.  I 
made  a necessary  bargain  with  you  ; I release  you  from  it. 
I have  done  what  I undertook  to  do.  I wish  you  and 
your  amiable  daughter  all  happiness.  Adieu  ! I take  my 
leave.”  Bows  himself  out.  People  on  the  stage  aston- 
ished. Audience  astonished — incensed.  The  daughter  is 
going  to  cry,  when  she  looks  at  the  box  on  the  table, 
remembers  the  bell,  runs  to  it  and  rings  it,  and  he  rushes 
back  and  takes  her  to  his  heart  ; upon  which  we  all  cry 
with  pleasure,  and  then  laugh  heartily. 

This  looks  dreadfully  long,  and  perhaps  you  know  it 
already.  If  so,  I will  endeavour  to  make  amends  with 
Flora  in  future  numbers. 

Mrs.  Dickens  and  her  sister  beg  to  present  their  remem- 
brances to  your  Grace,  and  their  congratulations  on  your 
recovery.  I saw  Paxton  now  and  then  when  you  were  ill, 
and  always  received  from  him  most  encouraging  accounts. 


524  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

I don^t  know  how  heavy  he  is  going  to  be  (I  mean  in  the 
scale),  but  I begin  to  think  Daniel  Lambert  must  have  been 
in  his  family. 

Ever  your  Grace's  faithful  and  obliged. 

[ To  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready?[ 

Villa  des  Moulineaux,  Boulogne, 

Tuesday ^ July  1856. 

My  dearest  Macready, 

I perfectly  agree  with  you  in  your  appreciation  of 
Katie's  poem,  and  shall  be  truly  delighted  to  publish  it 
in  Household  Words."  It  shall  go  into  the  very  next 
number  we  make  up.  We  are  a little  in  advance  (to  en- 
able Wills  to  get  a holiday),  but  as  I remember,  the  next 
number  made  up  will  be  published  in  three  weeks. 

We  are  pained  indeed  to  read  your  reference  to  my  poor 
boy.  God  keep  him  and  his  father.  I trust  he  is  not  con- 
scious of  much  suffering  himself.  If  that  be  so,  it  is,  in 
the  midst  of  the  distress,  a great  comfort. 

Little  Dorrit " keeps  me  pretty  busy,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose. The  beginning  of  No.  10— the  first  line — now  lies 
upon  my  desk.  It  would  not  be  easy  to  increase  upon  the 
pains  I take  with  her  anyhow. 

We  are  expecting  Stanfield  on  Thursday,  and  Peter 
Cunningham  and  his  wife  on  Monday.  I would  we  were 
expecting  you  ! This  is  as  pretty  and  odd  a little  French 
country  house  as  could  be  found  anywhere  ; and  the  gar- 
dens are  most  beautiful. 

In  “Household  Words,"  next  week,  pray  read  The 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


525 


Diary  of  Anne  Rodway  ” (in  two  not  long  parts).  It  is 
by  Collins,  and  I think  possesses  great  merit  and  real 
pathos. 

Being  in  town  the  other  day,  I saw  Gye  by  accident, 

and  told  him,  when  he  praised to  me,  that  she  was  a 

very  bad  actress.  Well ! ” said  he,  you  may  say  any- 
thing, but  if  anybody  else  had  told  me  that  I should  have 
stared.’'  Nevertheless,  I derived  an  impression  from  his 
manner  that  she  had  not  been  a profitable  speculation  in 
respect  of  money.  That  very  same  day  Stanfield  and  I 
dined  alone  together  at  the  Garrick,  and  drank  your  health. 
We  had  had  a ride  by  the  river  before  dinner  (of  course 
he  would  go  and  look  at  boats),  and  had  been  talking  of 
you.  It  was  this  day  week,  by-the-bye. 

I know  of  nothing  of  public  interest  that  is  new  in 
France,  except  that  I am  changing  my  moustache  into  a 
beard.  We  all  send  our  most  tender  loves  to  dearest  Miss 
Macready  and  all  the  house.  The  Hammy  boy  is  particu- 
larly anxious  to  have  his  love  sent  to  ^^Misr  Greedy.” 

Ever,  my  dearest  Macready, 

Most  affectionately  yours. 


[ To  Mr.  W.  Wilkie  Collins 

Villa  des  Moulineaux,  Boulogne,  Sunday,  July  13M,  1856. 
My  dear  Collins, 

We  are  all  sorry  that  you  are  not  coming  until  the  mid- 
dle of  next  month,  but  we  hope  that  you  will  then  be  able 
to  remain,  so  that  we  may  all  come  back  together  about 


526  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


the  loth  of  October.  I think  (recreation  allowed,  etc.), 
that  the  play  will  take  that  time  to  write.  The  ladies  of 
the  dram.  pers.  are  frightfully  anxious  to  get  it  under  way, 
and  to  see  you  locked  up  in  the  pavilion  ; apropos  of 
which  noble  edifice  I have  omitted  to  mention  that  it  is 
made  a more  secluded  retreat  than  it  used  to  be,  and 
is  greatly  improved  by  the  position  of  the  door  being 
changed.  It  is  as  snug  and  as  pleasant  as  possible  ; and 
the  Genius  of  Order  has  made  a few  little  improvements 
about  the  house  (at  the  rate  of  about  tenpence  apiece), 
which  the  Genius  of  Disorder  will,  it  is  hoped,  appreciate. 

I think  I must  come  over  for  a small  spree,  and  to  fetch 
you.  Suppose  I were  to  come  on  the  9th  or  loth  of 
August  to  stay  three  or  four  days  in  town,  would  that  do 
for  you  ? Let  me  know  at  the  end  of  this  month. 

I cannot  tell  you  what  a high  opinion  I have  of  Anne 
Rodway.  I took  Extracts  ’’  out  of  the  title  because  it 
conveyed  to  the  many-headed  an  idea  of  incompleteness — 
of  something  unfinished — and  is  likely  to  stall  some  readers 
off.  I read  the  first  part  at  the  office  with  strong  admira- 
tion, and  read  the  second  on  the  railway  coming  back 
here,  being  in  town  just  after  you  had  started  on  your 
cruise.  My  behaviour  before  my  fellow-passengers  was 
weak  in  the  extreme,  for  I cried  as  much  as  you  could 
possibly  desire.  Apart  from  the  genuine  force  and  beauty 
of  the  little  narrative,  and  the  admirable  personation  of  the 
girl’s  identity  and  point  of  view,  it  is  done  with  an  amount 
of  honest  pains  and  devotion  to  the  work  which  few  men 
have  better  reason  to  appreciate  than  I,  and  which  no 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS.  52/ 

man  can  have  a more  profound  respect  for.  I think  it 
excellent,  feel  a personal  pride  and  pleasure  in  it  which  is 
a delightful  sensation,  and  know  no  one  else  who  could 
have  done  it. 

Of  myself  I have  only  to  report  that  I have  been  hard 
at  it  with  Little  Dorrit,”  and  am  now  doing  No.  lo.  This 
last  week  I sketched  out  the  notion,  characters,  and  prog- 
ress of  the  farce,  and  sent  it  off  to  Mark,  who  has  been  ill 
of  an  ague.  It  ought  to  be  very  funny.  The  cat  business 
is  too  ludicrous  to  be  treated  of  in  so  small  a sheet  of 
paper,  so  I must  describe  it  viva  voce  when  I come  to  town. 
French  has  been  so  insufferably  conceited  since  he  shot 
tigerish  cat  No.  i (intent  on  the  noble  Dick,  with  green 
eyes  three  inches  in  advance  of  her  head),  that  I am  afraid 
I shall  have  to  part  with  him.  All  the  boys  likewise  (in 
new  clothes  and  ready  for  church)  are  at  this  instant  prone 
on  their  stomachs  behind  bushes,  whooshing  and  crying 
(after  tigerish  cat  No.  2)  : ‘‘  French  ! Here  she  comes  ! 

“ There  she  goes  ! ” etc.  I dare  not  put  my  head  out  of 
the  window  for  fear  of  being  shot  (it  is  as  like  a coup  d'etat 
as  possible),  and  tradesmen  coming  up  the  avenue  cry 
plaintively  : Ne  tirez  pas.,  Monsieur  Fleenchj  cest  moi — 

houlanger.  Ne  tirez  pas,  mon  amiP 

Likewise  I shall  have  to  recount  to  you  the  secret  history 
of  a robbery  at  the  Pavilion  at  Folkestone,  which  you  will 
have  to  write. 

Tell  Piggot,  when  you  see  him,  that  we  shall  all  be  much 
pleased  if  he  will  come  at  his  own  convenience  while  you 
are  here,  and  stay  a few  days  with  us. 


528 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


I shall  have  more  than  one  notion  of  future  work  to  sug- 
gest to  you  while  we  are  beguiling  the  dreariness  of  an 
arctic  winter  in  these  parts.  May  they  prosper  ! 

Kind  regards  from  all  to  the  Dramatic  Poet  of  the  estab- 
lishment, and  to  the  D.  P.’s  mother  and  brother. 

Ever  yours. 

P.S. — If  the  Flying  Dutchman  ” should  be  done  again, 

pray  do  go  and  see  it.  Webster  expressed  his  opinion  to 
me  that  it  was  ^‘a  neat  piece.”  I implore  you  to  go  and 
see  a neat  piece. 

iTo  Mr,  W.H,  Wil/s.\ 

Boulogne,  Thursday^  August  1856. 

My  dear  Wills, 

I do  not  feel  disposed  to  record  those  two  Chancery 
cases  ; firstly,  because  I would  rather  have  no  part  in 
engendering  in  the  mind  of  any  human  creature,  a hope- 
ful confidence  in  that  den  of  iniquity. 

And  secondly,  because  it  seems  to  me  that  the  real  phi- 
losophy of  the  facts  is  altogether  missed  in  the  narrative. 
The  wrong  which  chanced  to  be  set  right  in  these  two 
cases  was  done,  as  all  such  wrong  is,  mainly  because  these 
wicked  courts  of  equity,  with  all  their  means  of  evasion 
and  postponement,  give  scoundrels  confidence  in  cheating. 
If  justice  were  cheap,  sure,  and  speedy,  few  such  things 
could  be.  It  is  because  it  has  become  (through  the  vile 
dealing  of  those  courts  and  the  vermin  they  have  called 
into  existence)  a positive  precept  of  experience  that  a 
man  had  better  endure  a great  wrong  than  go,  or  suffer 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


529 


himself  to  be  taken,  into  Chancery,  with  the  dream  of  set- 
ting it  right.  It  is  because  of  this  that  such  nefarious  spec- 
ulations are  made. 

Therefore  I see  nothing  at  all  to  the  credit  of  Chancery 
in  these  cases,  but  everything  to  its  discredit.  And  as  to 
owing  it  to  Chancery  to  bear  testimony  to  its  having  ren- 
dered justice  in  two  such  plain  matters,  I have  no  debt  of 
the  kind  upon  my  conscience. 

In  haste,  ever  faithfully. 

\^To  Mr,  W.  C.  Macready^ 

Boulogne,  Friday,  August  ^tk,  1856. 
My  dearest  Macready, 

I like  the  second  little  poem  very  much  indeed,  and 
think  (as  you  do)  that  it  is  a great  advance  upon  the  first. 
Please  to  note  that  I make  it  a rule  to  pay  for  everything 
that  is  inserted  in  “ Household  Words,’’  holding  it  to  be  a 
part  of  my  trust  to  make  my  fellow-proprietors  understand 
that  they  have  no  right  to  unrequited  labour.  Therefore, 
when  Wills  (who  has  been  ill  and  is  gone  for  a holiday) 
does  his  invariable  spiriting  gently,  don’t  make  Katey’s 
‘ case  different  from  Adelaide  Procter’s. 

I am  afraid  there  is  no  possibility  of  my  reading  Dorset- 
shirewards.  I have  made  many  conditional  promises  thus  : 

I am  very  much  occupied  ; but  if  I read  at  all,  I will 
read  for  your  institution  in  such  an  order  on  my  list.” 
Edinburgh,  which  is  No.  i,  I have  been  obliged  to  put 
as  far  off  as  next  Christmas  twelvemonth.  Bristol  stands 
VoL.  I. — 23 


530 


LETTERS  OE  CL/ARLES  DICKENS. 


next.  The  working  men  at  Preston  come  next.  And  so, 
if  I were  to  go  out  of  the  record  and  read  for  your  people, 
I should  bring  such  a house  about  my  ears  as  would  shake 
“ Little  Dorrit  ” out  of  my  head. 

Being  in  town  last  Saturday,  I went  to  see  Robson  in  a 
burlesque  of  Medea/’  It  is  an  odd  but  perfectly  true 
testimony  to  the  extraordinary  power  of  his  performance 
(which  is  of  a very  remarkable  kind  indeed),  that  it  points 

the  badness  of ’s  acting  in  a most  singular  manner, 

by  bringing  out  what  she  might  do  and  does  not.  The 
scene  with  Jason  is  perfectly  terrific  ; and  the  manner  in 
which  the  comic  rage  and  jealousy  does  not  pitch  itself 
over  the  floor  at  the  stalls  is  in  striking  contrast  to  the 
manner  in  which  the  tragic  rage  and  jealousy  does.  He 
has  a frantic  song  and  dagger  dance,  about  ten  minutes 

long  altogether,  which  has  more  passion  in  it  than 

could  express  in  fifty  years. 

We  all  unite  in  kindest  love  to  Miss  Macready  and  all 
your  dear  ones  ; not  forgetting  my  godson,  to  whom  I send 
his  godfather’s  particular  love  twice  over.  The  Hammy 
boy  is  so  brown  that  you  would  scarcely  know  him. 

Ever,  my  dear  Macready,  affectionately  yours. 

iTo  Mr.  W.  H.  Wills.] 

Tavistock  House,  Sunday  Momingy  Sept.  2^thy  1856. 

My  pear  Wills, 

I suddenly  remember  this  morning  that  in  Mr.  Curtis’s 
article,  Health  and  Education,”  I left  a line  which  must 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


531 


come  out.  It  is  in  effect  that  the  want  of  healthy  training 
leaves  girls  in  a fit  state  to  be  the  subjects  of  mesmerism. 
I would  not  on  any  condition  hurt  Elliotson’s  feelings  (as 
I should  deeply)  by  leaving  that  depreciatory  kind  of  ref- 
erence in  any  page  of  H.  W.  He  has  suffered  quite 
enough  without  a stab  from  a friend.  So  pray,  whatever 
the  inconvenience  may  be  in  what  Bradbury  calls  the 
Friars,'*  take  that  passage  out.  By  some  extraordinary 
accident,  after  observing  it,  I forgot  to  do  it. 

Ever  faithfully. 


[ To  Miss  Dickensi\ 

Tavistock  House,  Saturday,  Oct.  /\th,  1856. 
My  dear  Mamey, 

The  preparations  for  the  play  are  already  beginning,  and 
it  is  christened  (this  is  a great  dramatic  secret,  which  I 
suppose  you  know  already)  The  Frozen  Deep." 

Tell  Katey,  with  my  best  love,  that  if  she  fail  to  come 
back  six  times  as  red,  hungry,  and  strong  as  she  was  when 
she  went  away,  I shall  give  her  part  to  somebody  else. 

We  shall  all  be  very  glad  to  see  you  both  back  again  ; 
when  I ^ay  “ we  " I include  the  birds  (who  send  their  re- 
spectful duty)  and  the  Plorn. 

Kind  regards  to  all  at  Brighton. 

Ever,  my  dear  Mamey,  your  affectionate  Father. 


532 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


/ 


[To  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Watson^ 

Tavistock  House,  Tuesday,  Oct.  1856. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Watson, 

I did  write  it  for  you  ; and  I hoped  in  writing  it,  that 
you  would  think  so.  All  those  remembrances  are  fresh  in 
my  mind,  as  they  often  are,  and  gave  me  an  extraordinary 
interest  in  recalling  the  past.  I should  have  been  griev- 
ously disappointed  if  you  had  not  been  pleased,  for  I took 
aim  at  you  with  a most  determined  intention. 

Let  me  congratulate  you  most  heartily  on  your  hand- 
some Eddy  having  passed  his  examination  with  such 
credit.  I am  sure  there  is  a spirit  shining  out  of  his  eyes, 
which  will  do  well  in  that  manly  and  generous  pursuit. 
You  will  naturally  feel  his  departure  very  much,  and  so 
will  he  ; but  I have  always  observed  within  my  experience, 
that  the  men  who  have  left  home  young  have,  many  long 
years  afterwards,  had  the  tenderest  love  for  it,  and  for  ail 
associated  with  it.  That’s  a pleasant  thing  to  think  of,  as 
one  of  the  wise  and  benevolent  adjustments  in  these  lives 
of  ours. 

I have  been  so  hard  at  work  (and  shall  be  for  the  next 
eight  or  nine  months),  that  sometimes  I fancy  I have  a 
digestion,  or  a head,  or  nerves,  or  some  odd  encumbrance 
of  that  kind,  to  which  I am  altogether  unaccustomed,  and 
am  obliged  to  rush  at  some  other  object  for  relief  ; at 
present  the  house  is  in  a state  of  tremendous  excitement, 
on  account  of  Mr.  Collins  having  nearly  finished  the  new 
play  we  are  to  act  at  Christmas,  which  is  very  interesting 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICh'ENS. 


533 


and  extremely  clever.  I hope  this  time  you  will  come  and 
see  it.  We  purpose  producing  it  on  Charley’s  birthday, 
Twelfth  Night  ; but  we  shall  probably  play  four  nights 
altogether — “ The  Lighthouse  ” on  the  last  occasion — so 
that  if  you  could  come  for  the  two  last  nights,  you  would 
see  both  the  pieces.  I am  going  to  try  and  do  better  than 
ever,  and  already  the  school-room  is  in  the  hands  of  car- 
penters ; men  from  underground  habitations  in  theatres, 
who  look  as  if  they  lived  entirely  upon  smoke  and  gas, 
meet  me  at  unheard-of  hours.  Mr.  Stanfield  is  perpetually 
measuring  the  boards  with  a chalked  piece  of  string  and 
an  umbrella,  and  all  the  elder  children  are  wildly  punctual 
and  business-like  to  attract  managerial  commendation.  If 
you  don’t  come,  I shall  do  something  antagonistic — try  to 
unwrite  No.  ii,  I think.  I should  particularly  like  you  to 
see  a new  and  serious  piece  so  done.  Because  I don’t  think 
you  know,  without  seeing,  how  good  it  is  ! ! ! 

None  of  the  children  suffered,  thank  God,  from  the 
Boulogne  risk.  The  three  little  boys  have  gone  back  to 
school  there,  and  are  all  well.  Katey  came  away  ill,  but  it 
turned  out  that  she  had  the  whooping-cough  for  the  second 
time.  She  has  been  to  Brighton,  and  comes  home  to-day. 
I hear  great  accounts  of  her,  and  hope  to  find  her  quite 
well  when  she  arrives  presently.  I am  afraid  Mary  Boyle 
has  been  praising  the  Boulogne  life  too  highly.  Not  that 
I deny,  however,  our  having  passed  some  very  pleasant 
days  together,  and  our  having  had  great  pleasure  in  her 
visit. 

You  will  object  to  me  dreadfully,  I know,  with  a beard 


534 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


(though  not  a great  one)  ; but  if  you  come  and  see  the 
play,  you  will  find  it  necessary  there,  and  will  perhaps  be 
more  tolerant  of  the  fearful  object  afterwards.  I need  not 
tell  you  how  delighted  we  should  be  to  see  George,  if  you 
would  come  together.  Pray  tell  him  so,  with  my  kind  re- 
gards. I like  the  notion  of  Wentworth  and  his  philosophy 
of  all  things.  I remember  a philosophical  gravity  upon 
him,  a state  of  suspended  opinion  as  to  myself,  it  struck 
me,  when  we  last  met,  in  which  I thought  there  was  a great 
deal  of  oddity  and  character. 

Charley  is  doing  very  well  at  Baring’s,  and  attracting 
praise  and  reward  to  himself.  Within  this  fortnight  there 
turned  up  from  the  West  Indies,  where  he  is  now  a chief 
justice,  an  old  friend  of  mine,  of  my  own  age,  who  lived 
with  me  in  lodgings  in  the  Adelphi,  when  I was  just  Char- 
ley’s age.  He  had  a great  affection  for  me  at  that  time, 
and  always  supposed  I was  to  do  some  sort  of  wonders. 
It  was  a very  pleasant  meeting  indeed,  and  he  seemed  to 
think  it  so  odd  that  I shouldn’t  be  Charley  ! 

This  is  every  atom  of  no-news  that  will  come  out  of  my 
head,  and  I firmly  believe  it  is  all  I have  in  it — except  that 
a cobbler  at  Boulogne,  who  had  the  nicest  of  little  dogs, 
that  always  sat  in  his  sunny  window  watching  him  at  work, 
asked  me  if  I would  bring  the  dog  home,  as  he  couldn’t 
afford  to  pay  the  tax  for  him.  The  cobbler  and  the  dog 
being  both  my  particular  friends,  I complied.  The  cobbler 
parted  with  the  dog  heart-broken.  When  the  dog  got 
home  here,  my  man,  like  an  idiot  as  he  is,  tied  him  up 
and  then  untied  him.  The  moment  the  gate  was  open,  the 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


535 


dog  (on  the  very  day  after  his  arrival)  ran  out.  Next  day, 
Georgy  and  I saw  him  lying,  all  covered  with  mud,  dead, 
outside  the  neighbouring  church.  Hov/  am  I ever  to  tell 
the  cobbler  ? He  is  too  poor  to  come  to  England,  so  I 
feel  that  I must  lie  to  him  for  life,  and  say  that  the  dog 
is  fat  ajid  happy.  Mr.  Plornish,  much  affected  by  this 
tragedy,  said  : I s’pose,  pa,  I shall  meet  the  cobbler’s 

dog  ” (in  heaven). 

Georgy  and  Catherine  send  their  best  love,  and  I send 
mine.  Pray  write  to  me  again  some  day,  and  I can’t  be 
too  busy  to  be  happy  in  the  sight  of  your  familiar  hand, 
associated  in  my  mind  with  so  much  that  I love  and 
honour. 

Ever,  my  dear  Mr.  Watson,  most  faithfully  yours. 

[7b  Mrs.  Hor77e.\ 

Tavistock  House,  Tavistock  Square,  Oct.  20th,  1856. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Horne, 

I answer  your  note  by  return  of  post,  in  order  that  you 
may  know  that  the  Stereoscopic  Nottage  has  not  written 
to  me  yet.  Of  course  I will  not  lose  a moment  in  replying 
to  him  when  he  does  address  me. 

We  shall  be  greatly  pleased  to  see  you  again.  You  have 
been  very,  very  often  in  our  thoughts  and  on  our  lips,  dur- 
ing this  long  interval. 

And  she  ” is  near  you,  is  she  ? O I remember  her 
well  ! And  I am  still  of  my  old  opinion  ! Passionately 
devoted  to  her  sex  as  I am  (they  are  the  weakness  of  my 


53^  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


existence),  I still  consider  her  a failure.  She  had  some 
extraordinary  christian-name,  which  I forget.  Lashed  into 
verse  by  my  feelings,  I am  inclined  to  write  : 

My  heart  disowns 
Ophelia  Jones  ; 

only  I think  it  was  a more  sounding  name.  • 

Are  these  the  tones — 

Volumnia  Jones  ? 

No.  Again  it  seems  doubtful. 

God  bless  her  bones,- 
Petronia  Jones  ! 

I think  not. 

Carve  I on  stones 
Olympia  Jones  ? 

Can  that  be  the  name  ? Fond  memory  favours  it  more 
than  any  other.  My  love  to  her. 

Ever,  my  dear  Mrs.  Horne,  very  faithfully  yours. 

[ To  tlf,e  Duke  of  Devonshire?^ 

Tavistock  House,  December  \st,  1856. 
My  dear  Duke  of  Devonshire, 

The  moment  the  first  bill  is  printed  for  the  first  night  of 
the  new  play  I told  you  of,  I send  it  to  you,  in  the  hope 
that  you  will  grace  it  with  your  presence.  There  is  not 
one  of  the  old  actors  whom  you  will  fail  to  inspire  as  no 
one  else  can  ; and  I hope  you  will  see  a little  result  of  a 
friendly  union  of  the  arts,  that  you  may  think  worth  see- 
ing, and  that  you  can  see  nowhere  else. 


LETTERS  OE  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


537 


We  propose  repeating  it  on  Thursday,  the  8th  ; Monday, 
the  i2th  ; and  Wednesday,  the  14th  of  January.  I do  not 
encumber  this  note  with  so  many  bills,  and  merely  men- 
tion those  nights  in  case  any  one  of  them  should  be  more 
convenient  to  you  than  the  first. 

But  I shall  hope  for  the  first,  unless  you  dash  me  (N.B. 
— I put  Flora  into  the  current  number  on  purpose  that 
this  might  catch  you  softened  towards  me,  and  at  a disad- 
vantage). If  there  is  hope  of  your  coming,  I will  have  the 
play  clearly  copied,  and  will  send  it  to  you  to  read  before- 
hand. With  the  most  grateful  remembrances,  and  the  sin- 
cerest  good  wishes  for  your  health  and  happiness, 

I am  ever,  my  dear  Duke  of  Devonshire, 

Your  faithful  and  obliged. 


iTo  Mr.  Thomas  Mitton.^ 

Tavistock  House,  Wednesday,  Dec.  2>rd,  1856. 
My  dear  Mitton, 

The  inspector  from  the  fire  office — surveyor,  by-the-bye, 
they  called  him — duly  came.  Wills  described  him  as  not 
very  pleasant  in  his  manners.  I derived  the  impression 
that  he  was  so  exceedingly  dry,  that  if  he  ever  takes  fire, 
he  must  burn  out,  and  can  never  otherwise  be  extinguished. 

Next  day,  I received  a letter  from  the  secretary,  to  say 
that  the  said  surveyor  had  reported  great  additional  risk 
from  fire,  and  that  the  directors,  at  their  meeting  next 
Tuesday,  would  settle  the  extra  amount  of  premium  to  be 
paid. 

23* 


538  LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 

Thereupon  I thought  the  matter  was  becoming  compli- 
cated, and  wrote  a common-sense  note  to  the  secretary 
(which  I begged  might  be  read  to  the  directors),  saying 
that  I was  quite  prepared  to  pay  any  extra  premium,  but 
setting  forth  the  plain  state  of  the  case.  (I  did  not  say 
that  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  the  Chief  Baron,  and  half  the 
Bench  were  coming  ; though  I felt  a temptation  to  make 
a joke  about  burning  them  all.) 

Finally,  this  morning  comes  up  the  secretary  to  me  (yes- 
terday having  been  the  great  Tuesday),  and  says  that  he 
is  requested  by  the  directors  to  present  their  compliments 
and  to  say  that  they  could  not  think  of  charging  for  any 
additional  risk  at  all ; feeling  convinced  that  I would  place 
the  gas  (which  they  considered  to  be  the  only  danger) 
under  the  charge  of  one  competent  man.  I then  explained 
to  him  how  carefully  and  systematically  that  was  all  ar- 
ranged, and  we  parted  with  drums  beating  and  colours  fly- 
ing on  both  sides.  Ever  faithfully. 

[7b  Mr.  W.  C.  Macready?[ 

Tavistock  House,  Saturday  Evenings  Dec.  13/y^,  1856. 
My  dearest  Macready, 

We  shall  be  charmed  to  squeeze  Willie’s  friend  in,  and 
it  shall  be  done  by  some  undiscovered  power  of  compres- 
sion on  the  second  night,  Thursday  the  14th.  Will  you 
make  our  compliments  to  his  honour,  the  Deputy  Fiscal, 
present  him  with  the  enclosed  bill,  and  tell  him  we  shall 
be  cordially  glad  to  see  him  ? I hope  to  entrust  him  with 
a special  shake  of  the  hand,  to  be  forwarded  to  our  dear 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


539 


boy  (if  a hoary  sage  like  myself  may  venture  on  that  ex- 
pression) by  the  next  mail. 

I would  have  proposed  the  first  night,  but  that  is  too 
full.  You  may  faintly  imagine,  my  venerable  friend,  the 
occupation  of  these  also  gray  hairs,  between  ‘^Golden 
Marys,'*  ^‘Little  Dorrits,*’  Household  Wordses,’*  four 
stage-carpenters  entirely  boarding  on  the  premises,  a car- 
penter’s shop  erected  in  the  back  garden,  size  always  boil- 
ing over  on  all  the  lower  fires,  Stanfield  perpetually  elevated 
on  planks  and  splashing  himself  from  head  to  foot,  Telbin 
requiring  impossibilities  of  smart  gasmen,  and  a legion  of 
prowling  nondescripts  for  ever  shrinking  in  and  out.  Calm 
amidst  the  wreck,  your  aged  friend  glides  away  on  the 

Dorrit  ” stream,  forgetting  the  uproar  for  a stretch  of 
hours,  refreshes  himself  with  a ten  or  twelve  miles  walk, 
pitches  headforemost  into  foaming  rehearsals,  placidly 
emerges  for  editorial  purposes,  smokes  over  buckets  of 
distemper  with  Mr.  Stanfield  aforesaid,  again  calmly  floats 
upon  the  “ Dorrit  ” waters. 

With  very  best  love  to  Miss  Macready  and  all  the  rest, 
Ever  my  dear  Macready,  most  affectionately  yours. 

\_To  Miss  Power^ 

Tavistock  House,  December  1856. 
My  dear  Marguerite, 

I am  not  quite  clear  about  the  story  ; not  because  it  is 
otherwise  than  exceedingly  pretty,  but  because  I am  rather 
in  a difficult  position  as  to  stories  just  now.  Besides 
beginning  a long  one  by  Collins  with  the  new  year  (which 


540 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS, 


will  last  five  or  six  months),  I have,  as  I always  have  at 
this  time,  a considerable  residue  of  stories  written  for  the 
Christmas  number,  not  suitable  to  it,  and  yet  available  for 
the  general  purposes  of  Household  Words.”  This  limits 
my  choice  for  the  moment  to  stories  that  have  some  de-  1 
cided  specialties  (or  a great  deal  of  story)  in  them. 

But  I will  look  over  the  accumulation  before  you  come, 
and  I hope  you  will  never  see  your  little  friend  again  but 
in  print. 

You  will  find  us  expecting  you  on  the  night  of  the 
twenty-fourth,  and  heartily  glad  to  welcome  you.  The 
most  terrific  preparations  are  in  hand  for  the  play  on 
Twelfth  Night.  There  has  been  a carpenter’s  shop  in  the 
garden  for  six  weeks  ; a painter’s  shop  in  the  school-room  ; 
a gasfitter’s  shop  all  over  the  basement  ; a dressmaker’s 
shop  at  the  top  of  the  house  ; a tailor’s  shop  in  my  dress- 
ing-room. Stanfield  has  been  incessantly  on  scaffoldings 
for  two  months  ; and  your  friend  has  been  writing  Little 
Dorrit,”  etc.  etc.,  in  corners,  like  the  sultan’s  groom,  who 
was  turned  upside-down  by  the  genie. 

Kindest  love  from  all,  and  from  me. 

Ever  affectionately. 

\To  Mr.  William  Charles  KentC\ 

Tavistock  House,  Christmas  Eve^  1856. 

My  dear  Sir, 

I cannot  leave  your  letter  unanswered,  because  I am 
really  anxious  that  you  should  understand  why  I cannot 
comply  with  your  request. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS. 


541 


Scarcely  a week  passes  without  my  receiving  requests 
from  various  quarters  to  sit  for  likenesses,  to  be  taken  by 
all  the  processes  ever  invented.  Apart  from  my  having  an 
invincible  objection  to  the  multiplication  of  my  counte- 
nance in  the  shop-windows,  I have  not,  between  my  avoca- 
tions and  my  needful  recreation,  the  time  to  comply  with 
these  proposals.  At  this  moment  there  are  three  cases 
out  of  a vast  number,  in  which  I have  said  : If  I sit  at 

all,  it  shall  be  to  you  first,  to  you  second,  and  to  you 
third.”  But  I assure  you,  I consider  myself  almost  as  un- 
likely to  go  through  these  three  conditional  achievements 
as  I am  to  go  to  China.  Judge  when  I am  likely  to  get  to 
Mr.  Watkins  ! 

I highly  esteem  and  thank  you  for  your  sympathy  with 
my  writings.  I doubt  if  I have  a more  genial  reader  in 
the  world. 

Very  faithfully  yours. 


PROLOGUE  TO  “THE  LIGHTHOUSE.” 

(Spoken  by  Charles  Dickens.) 

Slow  music  all  the  time,  unseen  speaker,  curtain  down, 

A story  of  those  rocks  where  doomed  ships  come 
To  cast  them  wreck’d  upon  the  steps  of  home, 
Where  solitary  men,  the  long  year  through — 

The  wind  their  music  and  the  brine  their  view — 
Warn  mariners  to  shun  the  beacon-light ; 

A story  of  those  rocks  is  here  to-night. 

Eddystone  lighthouse 


[Exterior  view  discovered. 


542 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS, 


In  its  ancient  form  ; 

Ere  he  who  built  it  wish'd  for  the  great  storm 
That  shiver’d  it  to  nothing  ; once  again 
Behold  outgleaming  on  the  angry  main  ! 

Within  it  are  three  men  ; to  these  repair 
In  our  frail  bark  of  Fancy,  swift  as  air  ! 

They  are  but  shadows,  as  the  rower  grim 
Took  none  but  shadows  in  his  boat  with  him. 

So  be  ye  shades,  and,  for  a little  space, 

The  real  world  a dream  without  a trace. 

Return  is  easy.  It  will  have  ye  back 
Too  soon  to  the  old  beaten  dusty  track  ; 

For  but  one  hour  forget  it.  Billows  rise. 

Blow  winds,  fall  rain,  be  black  ye  midnight  skies  ; 

And  you  who  watch  the  light,  arise  ! arise  ! 

\Exterior  view  rises  and  discovers  the  scene. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  WRECK. 


The  wind  blew  high,  the  waters  raved, 

A ship  drove  on  the  land, 

A hundred  human  creatures  saved, 

Kneeled  down  upon  the  sand. 

Threescore  were  drowned,  threescore  were  thrown 
Upon  the  black  rocks  wild. 

And  thus  among  them,  left  alone, 

They  found  one  helpless  child. 


A seaman  rough,  to  shipwreck  bred, 
Stood  out  from  all  the  rest. 

And  gently  laid  the  lonely  head 
Upon  his  honest  breast. 


LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKENS,  543 


And  travelling  o’er  the  desert  wide, 
It  was  a solemn  joy, 

• To  see  them,  ever  side  by.  side. 

The  sailor  and  the  boy. 


III. 

In  famine,  sickness,  hunger,  thirst. 
The  two  were  still  but  one. 

Until  the  strong  man  drooped  the  first, 
And  felt  his  labours  done. 

Then  to  a trusty  friend  he  spake, 
“Across  the  desert  wide, 

O take  this  poor  boy  for  my  sake  ! ” 
And  kissed  the  child  and  died. 


Toiling  along  in  weary  plight. 
Through  heavy  jungle,  mire, 
These  two  came  later  every  night 
To  warm  them  at  the  fire. 
Until  the  captain  said  one  day, 

“ O seamkn  good  and  kind. 

To  save  thyself  now  come  away. 
And  leave  the  boy  behind  ! ” 


The  child  was  slumb’ring  near  the  blaze, 
“ O captain,  let  him  rest 
Until  it  sinks,  when  God’s  own  ways 
Shall  teach  us  what  is  best ! ” 

They  watched  the  whitened  ashy  heap. 
They  touched  the  child  in  vain ; 

They  did  not  leave  him  there  asleep. 

He  never  woke  again. 


544  • LETTERS  OF  CHARLES  DLCKEINS. 

The  song  was  sung  to  the  music  of  “ Little  Nell,’'  a bal- 
lad composed  by  the  late  Mr.  George  Linley,  to  the  words 
of  Miss  Charlotte  Young,  and  dedicated  to  Charles  Dick- 
ens. He  was  very  fond  of  it,  and  his  eldest  daughter  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  singing  it  to  him  constantly  since  she 
was  quite  a child. 


END  OF  VOL.  I. 


The 

Letters  of  CharlesDickens. 

Edited  by  his  Sister-in-Law  and  his  Eldest  Daughter. 

With  several  Fac-simiie  Letters, 

Two  Volumes,  12mo,  cloth,  - - - $3.00. 


Parts  of  this  correspondence  record  Dickens’s  experiences  from  day  to 
day  with  the  minuteness  of  a diary,  introducing  the  most  capital  anecdotes 
and  inimitable  descriptions,  and  the  letters  have  naturally  aroused  an 
interest  which  hardly  anything  else  could  have  awakened,  unless  it  had 
been  a posthumous  work  of  the  great  novelist.  Indeed,  the  correspondence 
is  actually  what  the  editors  say  in  their  preface  that  they  have  tried  to 
make  it — “another  book  from  Charles  Dickens’s  own  hands — a portrait  of 
himself  by  himself.”  Altogether,  the  letters  give  such  a revelation  of 
the  man  as  nothing  else  could  give  so  well,  and  as  might  make  a substitute 
for  any  biography,  


CRITICAL  NOTICES. 

“ Their  literary  merit  is  great  and  genuine  ; they  are  freshly  and  spontaneously 
written  in  English  that  is  clear  and  strong  and  unaffected  in  a high  degree.  The  picture 
they  give  of  their  author  is  striking  and  singularly  pleasant.  They  bring  home  to  the 
reader  the  full  force  of  his  personality,  in  all  its  richness  and  expansiveness,  its  indom- 
itable energy  and  splendid  self-consciousness,  its  elasticity  and  resolution,  the  irresistible 
authority  of  its  union  of  vigor  and  charm  ; and  they  heighten  the  reader’s  opinion  of  him 
as  a private  man  and  as  a man  of  genius.” — LondoJi  Athenceum. 

“ No  formal  portrait  could  be  half  so  vivid.  In  this  book,  which  was  never  intended 
to  be  a book,  we  come  nearer  to  the  man  as  he  was,  than  any  biographer  could  have 
brought  us.  . . . The  letters  do  not  show  us  Dickens  at  work,  but  Dickens  at  play, 

relieved  from  the  strain  of  facing  the  public,  and  tossing  off  the  impressions  of  the 
moment  for  the  .sympathetic  appreciation  of  his  own  inner  circle.  The  editors  say  that 
no  man  ever  expressed  himself  more  in  his  letters  than  Charles  Dickens.  No  man 
certainly  ever  expressed  a livelier  or  more  considerate  friendship,  a purer  affection,  or  a 
more  exhilarating  sense  of  the  ridiculous.” — Fortnightly  Review. 

“ Some  of  the  new  letters  published  within  the  last  week  from  the  pen  of  Charles 
Dickens  are  amongst  the  most  amusing  compositions  in  the  English  language.  . . . 

They  flash  Dickens  on  you  with  as  much  vigor  as  if  they  gave  you  a glimpse  of  him  in  a 
magic-lantern.” — Lo7ido?i  Spectator, 

“ That  bright  sparkling  style,  that  tenderness  of  heart  and  fund  of  cheery  humor, 
that  odd,  keen,  humorous  way  of  observing  and  noting  things,  that  appreciation  of  and 
affection  for  hosts  of  friends,  which  we  already  knew  to  be  among  his  most  lovable  trait.s, 
are  to  be  yet  once  more  tasted  and  enjoyed  in  these  pages.” — Literary  World. 

“The  attractiveness  of  these  volumes  lies  in  their  free  and  natural  exhibition  of 
Mr.  Dickens’s  mind  and  heart.  His  personality  saturates  them.” — Congregatiofialist, 

“ Of  three  things  noticeable  in  this  correspondence,  one  is  the  prevailing  cheerful- 
ness of  high  spirits.  , . . The  other  two  noticeable  things  are  the  great  excellence 

flexibility  and  simpleness  of  style  from  the  very  first,  and  the  surprising  quantity  of  highly 
entertaining  epistolary  writing  produced  by  this  one  man.” — Boston  Courier, 


*;js*  For  sale  by  all  booksellers^  or  sent  postpaid.^  upon  receipt  of  frice^ 
by 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS, 

Nos.  743  AND  745  Broadway,  New  York. 


OLD  CREOLE  DAYS 

BY 

GEORGE  W.  CABLE. 

One  Volume,  16mo,  extra  cloth,  ...  $1.00. 


Mr.  Cable’s  sketches  of  life  in  the  old  French  quarter  of  New  Orleans 
display  a freshness  and  originality,  an  insight  into  the  character  of  the 
mixed  races  there,  and  a faculty  of  seizing  on  the  picturesque  phases  of 
life  among  these  oddly  contrasted  people,  that  give  them  an  importance , 
far  above  their  value  as  a mere  collection  of  clever  stories.  '‘Siem* 
George,”  “ Madame  Delicieuse,”  “ Jean-ah  Poquelin,”  and  *‘The  Belles 
Demoiselles’  Plantation,”  are  some  of  the  stories  included — carrying  even 
in  their  titles  some  of  their  quaint  attractiveness. 


CRITICAIi  NOTICES. 

It  is  very  seldom  indeed  that  we  meet  with  a book  so  distinctly  marking:  the  advent 
of  a writer  of  high  artistic  power  and  fresh  observation,  as  this  of  Mr.  Cable’s.  After 
re-reading  carefully,  and  with  the  keenest  enjoyment,  the  stories  now  collected  under  one 
heading,  we  not  only  have  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  their  author  a genius  with  special 
and  captivating  endowments,  but  we  feel  it  an  imperative  critical  duty  to  so  declare  him.” 

— Bosto?i  Courier. 

“ Mr.  Cable  has  the  rare  gift  of  keen  observation  united  to  great  descriptive  power. 
, . . He  has  portrayed  the  character  of  the  remnant  of  France  stranded  on  a foreign 

shore,  in  so  many  aspects,  that  the  reader  gains  a most  perfect  idea  of  the  strange  com- 
pound of  courtesy  and  selfishness,  of  grace  and  untruthfulness,  of  braveiy  and  cunning, 
which  that  character  presents.  . . The  stories,  themselves,  display  an  inventive  genius 

which  ranks  the  aiithor  among  the  best  of  our  modern  writers.” — Christian  hittlligencer, 

“These  charming  stories  attract  attention  and  commendation  by  their  quaint  delicacy 
of  style,  their  faithful  delineation  of  Creole  character,  and  a marked  originality.  The 
careful  rendering  of  the  dialect  reveals  patient  study  of  living  models  ; and  to  any  reader 
whose  ear  is  accustomed  to  the  broken  English,  as  heard  in  the  parts  of  our  city  every 
day.  Its  truth  to  nature  is  striking.” — New  Orleans  Picayune. 

“ Here  is  true  art  work.  Here  is  poetry,  pathos,  tragedy,  humor.  Here  is  an  entranc- 
ing style.  Here  is  a new  field,  one  full  of  passion  arid  beauty.  Here  is  local  color  with 
strong  drawing.  Here,  in  this  little  volume,  is  life,  breath,  and  blood.  The  author  of 
this  book  is  an  artist,  and  over  such  a revelation  one  may  be  permitted  strong  words.” 

— Cinciniiati  Times. 

“To  a keen  zest  for  what  is  anti(]ue  and  picturesque,  Mr.  Cable  adds  a surprising 
skill,  for  so  young  a writer,  in  conceiving  and  developing  a plot.  ...  . He  has  ren- 

dered very  finely  the  attractive  childlike  quality  so  often  seen  among  men  of  Latin  races, 
and  as  to  his  women,  they  are  as  delightful  as  the  scent  of  the  flowers  which  he  mentions 
every  now  and  then.” — N.  Y.  Times. 

“ The  seven  sketches  which  compose  this  bright  little  volume  are  full  of  a delicate  pathetic 
humor  which  has  rarely  been  equaled  in  American  Literature.” — Detroit  Free  Press. 

“ These  half-pathetic,  half-humorous,  and  altogether  delicate  sketches,  constitute 
extremely  good  literature.  . . . There  is  the  touch  of  a true  artist  in  them.” — Ev.  Post. 

“These  stories  contain  a most  attractive  blending  of  vivid  descriptions  of  local  scenery 
<ith  admirable  delineations  of  personal  character.” — Congregationalist. 


The  above  book  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent.,  j>rej>aid,  upon 
receipt  of  ^rice,  by 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS,  Publishers, 

743  AND  745  Broadway,  New  York. 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF 


MADAME  BONAPARTE. 

BY  E.  L.  DIDIE  R. 


I Volume,  i2mo,  Cloth.  With  Portrait,  - $1.50. 


The  remarkable  career  of  Madame  Bonaparte,  which  ended  at  Balti- 
more, in  April  of  this  year,  possessed  features  which  mske  it  as  interesting 
as  a romance.  Few  of  the  present  generation,  when  they  read  in  tlie 
daily  papers  the  notice  of  the  death,  at  the  great  age  of  ninety-four,  of  this 
brilliant,  fascinating,  and  once  dazzlingly  beautiful  woman,  realized  what 
a long  and  varied  series  of  events  had  been  comprised  in  her  life.  The 
account  of  Elizabeth  Patterson’s  marriage,  at  eighteen,  to  Jerome  Bona- 
parte, the  brother  of  Napoleon ; of  her  desertion  by  her  husband  at 
Napoleon’s  order,  and  of  the  ambitious  woman’s  long  and  determined 
struggle  for  her  rights,  make  up  a sufficiently  eventful  story. 

But  the  wonderfully  full  and  varied  character  of  Madame  Bonaparte’s 
life  is  only  fully  appreciated  when  it  is  remembered  that  all  this  had  hap- 
pened before  she  was  thirty ; that  after  the  Restoration  she  was  still  to 
spend  years  of  brilliant  social  success,  in  different  pai*ts  of  Europe,  among 
the  most  prominent  people  of  the  time. 

A great  number  of  her  letters,  covering  portions  of  her  life  as  fully 
as  a diary,  have  come  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Eugene  L.  Didier, 
who  has  been  for  several  years  a special  student  of  everything  bearing 
upon  Madame  Bonaparte’s  career,  and*  has  had  every  advantage  for  making 
a thorough  biographical  study.  In  her  correspondence  her  opinions  are 
expressed  with  a peculiar  candor  ; and  the  cynical  frankness  with  which 
she  avows  her  ambitions  and  motives,  the  pungency  of.  her  comments  upon 
the  people  about  her,  and  the  accuracy  of  her  judgments,  as  they  are  found 
in  these  pages,  show  clearly  the  sharp  outlines  of  her  singular  character. 

The  publishers  have  had  the  privilege  of  consulting  Mr.  Charles 
Bonaparte,  of  Baltimore,  in  regard  to  the  publication  of  the  volume,  and, 
while  he  is  in  no  sense  responsible  for  any  portion  of  the  book,  they  are 
indebted  to  him  for  very  valuable  suggestions  and  criticisms. 

The  biography  will  be  illustrated  with  a copy  of  Gilbert  Stuart’s 
beautiful  portrait  of  Madame  Bonaparte  at  the  time  of  her  marriage,  giving 
three  different  views  of  the  face  on  the  same  canvas. 

*0*  The  above  book  for  sale  by  all  booksellers^  or  will  be  sent^  J>ost  or  eocfres^ 
tharges  ^aid^  ufon  receij>t  of  ^rice^  by  the  publishers^ 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS, 

743  AND  74S  Broadwats  New  York. 


The  best  Biography  of  the  Greatest  of  the  Romans. 


C^SAR:  A Sketch. 

BY 

JAMES  ANTHONY  FROUDE,  M.A. 

Ouo  vol.,  8vo,  cloth,  with  a Steel  Portrait  and  a JMEap. 
Price,  $2.50. 


There  is  no  historical  writer  of  our  time  who  can  rival  Mr.  Froude  in  vivid 
delineation  of  character,  grace  and  clearness  of  style  and  elegant  and  solid 
scholarship.  In  his  Xi/e  of  Ccesar,  all  these  qualities  appear  in  their  fullest 
perfection,  resulting  in  a fascinating  narrative  which  will  be  read  with  keen 
delight  by  a multitude  of  readers,  and  will  enhance,  if  possible,  Mr.  Froude’s 
brilliant  reputation. 


CRITICAL  NOTICES. 

“The  book  is  charmingly  written,  and,  on  the  whole,  wisely  written.  There  are  many 
admirable,  really  noble,  passages  ; there  are  hundreds  of  pages  which  few  living  men 
could  match.  * * * The  political  life  of  Caesar  is  explained  with  singular  lucidity, 

and  with  what  seems  to  us  remarkable  fairness.  The  horrible  condition  of  Roman 
society  under  the  rule  of  the  magnates  is  painted  with  startling  power  and  brilliance  of 
coloring, — Atlantic  Monthly. 

“ Mr.  Froude'*s  latest  work,  “ Cae.sar,’’  is  affluent  of  his  most  distinctive  traits. 
Nothing  that  he  has  written  is  more  brilliant,  more  incisive,  more  interesting.  * * * 

He  combines  into  a compact  and  nervous  narrative  all  that  is  known  of  the  personal, 
social,  political,  and  military  life  of  Csesar  ; and  with  his  sketch  of  Csesar,  includes  other 
brilliant  sketches  of  the  great  men,  his  friends  or  rivals,  who  contemporaneously  with 
him  formed  the  principal  figures  in  the  Roman  world.” — Harper's  Monthly. 

“This  book  is  a most  fascinating  biography,  and  is  by  far  the  best  account  of  Julius 
Csesar  to  be  found  in  the  English  language.” — London  Standard, 

“ It  is  the  best  biography  of  the  greatest  of  the  Romans  we  have,  and  it  is  in  some 
respects  Mr.  Froude’s  best  piece  of  historical  writing.” — Hartford  Courant, 

Mr.  Froude  has  given  the  public  the  best  of  all  recent  books  on  the  life,  character 
and  career  of  Julius  Caesar.” — Phila,  Eve.  Bullethi. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers,^  or  will  be  sent,  prepaid^  upon 
receipt  of  price ^ by 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS, 

743  AND  745  Broadway,  New  York. 


Dr.  J.  G.  HOLLAND'S 

POPULAR  NOVELS. 


Each  one  voL,  i2mo,  cloth,  - - - . « $1.75. 


NICHOLAS  MINTURN: 

A Study  in  a Story.  Illustrated. 

It  is  unquestionably  Dr.  Holland’s  ablest  production.  The 
characters  are  sketched  by  a master  hand,  the  incidents  are  realistic,  the 
progress  of  events  rapid,  and  the  tone  pure  and  healthy.  The  book  is 
superbly  illustrated.” — Rock  Isla?id  Union, 

“ Nicholas  Minturn  is  the  most  real  novel,  or  rather  life-story,  yet 
produced  by  any  American  writer.  ” — Philadelphia  Press. 


SEVENOAKS: 

A Story  of  To-Day.  Illustrated. 

“Dr.  Holland  has  added  a leaf  to  his  laurels.  In  Sevenoaks.^  he 
has  given  us  a thoroughly  good  novel,  with  the  distinctive  qualities  of  a 
work  of  literary  art.  As  a story,  it  is  thoroughly  readable ; the  action 
is  rapid,  but  not  hurried;  there  is  no  flagging,  and  no  dullness.” — 
Christian  Union. 


ARTHUR  BONNICASTLE: 

A Story  of  American  Life.  Illustrated. 

“ The  narrative  is  pervaded  by  a fine  poetical  spirit  that  is  alive  to 
the  subtle  graces  of  character,  as  well  as  to  the  tender  influences  of 
natural  scenes.  . . . Its  chief  merits  must  be  placed  in  its  graphic 

and  expressive  portraitures  of  character,  its  tenderness  and  delicacy  of 
sentiment,  its  touches  of  heartfelt  pathos,  and  the  admirable  wisdom  and 
soundness  of  its  ethical  suggestions.” — N.  Y.  Tribune, 


***  above  books  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  loill  be  sent,  post  or  express 
charges  paid,  upon  receipt  of  the  price,  by 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS,  Publishers, 

743  AND  745  Broadway,  New  York. 


"Infinite  aches  in  a little  roow."— Marlowe. 
COMPLETION  OE  THE  FIRST 

BRIC-A-BRAC  SERIES. 

Personal  Eeminiscences  of  Pamous  Poets  and  Novelists,  Wits  and 
Humorists,  Artists,  Actors,  Musicians,  and  the  like^ 

EDITED  BY 

RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD. 

Complete  in  ten  volumes,  square  12mo.  Per  vol*  $1»50, 


The  BRIC-A-BRAC  SERIES  has  achieved  for  itself  a success  altogether 
exceptional  in  the  hisrory  of  publishing  in  this  country. 

OVER  SIXTY  THOUSAND  VOLUMES 

Of  the  first  series  have  been  sold  in  eighteen  months.  The  Bric-a-Brac 
Series  constitutes  a 

COMPLETE  REPOSITORY  OF  REMINISCENCES 

Of  prominent  men  and  women  of  this  and  the  last  century.  Characteristic 
anecdotes  of  every  individual  of  note  in  art,  literature,  the  drama,  politics,  oi 
society  are  related,  and  they  are  told  by  those  who  know  how  to  give  point  tc 
a good  story. 

THE  SERIES  COMPRISES  THE  FOLLOWIRG  TEN  VOLUMES: 


I.  Chorley,  Planche,  and  Young. 

II.  T H ACKERAY  and  Dickens,  with  fac-simile 
of  a letter  by  Thackeray. 

[II.  Mhrimee,  Lamartine,  and  Sand. 

IV.  Barham,  Harness,  and  Hodder. 

V.  The  Greville  Memoirs,  with  Portrait 
of  Greville. 

VI.  Moore  and  Jerdan,  with  4 Illustrations. 


VII.  Cornelia  Knight  and  Thomas 
Raikes,  with  4 Illustrations. 

VIII.  O’Keeffe,  Kelly,  and  Taylor,  with 
4 Illustrations. 

IX.  Lamb,  Hazlitt,  and  Others,  with  4 
Illustrations  and  fac-simile  of  a letter 
by  Lamb. 

X.  Constable  and  Gillies,  with  4 Illus- 
trations. 


A sixteeJt-page  Descriptive  Catalogue  of  the  Series^  containing  Specimen  IlluS' 
\ tions,  sent  to  any  address  upon  application- 


NOW  JRJEADY: 

COMPLETE  SETS  OF  THE  BRIC-A-BRAC  SERIES  IN  THE 


FOLLOWING  STYLES:  — 

1 Cloth,  in  a neat  box $15  00 

2.  Half  vellum,  red  edges,  in  a handsome  box,  of  an  entirely  new 

style 17*50 

Half  calf,  extra,  in  a handsome  box,  of  an  entirely  new  style. . . . 20.oe 


Sent,  post-paid,  or  express  charges  paid,  on  receipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers, 

CHARIT:S  SCRIBNER’S  SONS, 

743  AND  745  Broadway,  New  York. 


. The  charm  of  these  nearly  perfect  stories  liee  in  their 
•zquisite  simplicity  and  most  tender  humor/’—PHiLADBLPHiA  Timk» 


RUDDER  GRANGE. 

By  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON. 


One  Volume,  16mo,  Extra  Cloth,  attractive  bindings, 


Humor  like  this  is  perennial.” — Washington  Post, 

“ Mr.  Stockton  has  rare  gifts  for  this  style  of  writing,  and  ha« 
developed  in  these  papers  remarkable  genius.” — Pittsburgh  Gazette, 

“ A certain  humorous  seriousness  over  matters  that  are  not  serious 
surrounds  the  story,  even  in  its  most  indifferent  parts,  with  an  atmosphere, 
an  aroma  of  very  quaint  and  delightful  humor.** — N,  Y,  Evening  Post, 

‘ ‘ Mr.  Stockton’ s vein  of  humor  is  a fresh  and  rich  one,  that  affords 
pleasure  to  mature  people  as  well  as  to  youne  ones.  Thus  far,  ‘Rudder 
Grange’  is  his  best  effort.” — Philadelphia  Bulletin, 

**  Rudder  Grange  is  an  ideal  book  to  take  into  the  country  for 
summer  reading.” — Portland  Press, 

“ Rudder  Grange  is  really  a very  delightful  piece  of  fooling,  but,  like 
all  fooling  that  is  worth  the  while,  it  has  point  and  purpose.” — Phil, 
Telegraph. 

“The  odd  conceit  of  making  his  young  couple  try  their  hands  at 
house-keeping  first  in  an  old  canal  boat,  suggests  many  droll  situations, 
which  the  author  improves  with  a frolicsome  humor  that  is  all  Ids  own.” 
y- Worcester  Spy. 

“ There  is  in  these  chapters  a rare  and  captivating  drollery.  . . , 

We  have  had  more  pleasure  in  reading  them  over  again  than  we  had  when 
they  first  appeared  in  the  magazine.” — Congregationalist, 


•4,*  The  above  booh  for  sale  by  all  booksellers^  or  will  he  sent^  ^re^aid,  upon 
receipt  of  prue^  by 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS,  Publishers, 

743  AND  745  Broadway,  New  York. 


* HAWt)RTH’S  + 

BY 

FBAJSrCES  HODGSOW  BUItNETT, 

Author  of  “THAT  LASS  O’LOWRIE’S.” 


One  Vol.  12mo,  Illustrated.  ------  Price,  $1.50. 


The  publication  of  a new  novel  from  Mrs.  Burnett’s  pen  has  become  an 
event  of  more  than  ordinary  moment,  both  to  the  critics  and  the  public  ; 
and  HAWORTH’S  fulfills  the  best  anticipations  of  both.  It  is  in  the 
direct  line  of  development  of  the  author’s  strongest  traits,  and  marks  a 
higher  point  than  was  reached  even  in  the  best  passages  of  her  first  story. 


CRITICAL  NOTICES. 

Haworth^ s is  a product  of  genius  of  a very  high  order — a piece  of 
work  which  will  hold  a permanent  place  in  literature ; one  of  those  mas- 
terly performances  that  rise  wholly  above  the  plane  of  light  literature  upon 
which  novels  are  generally  placed.” — Evening  Post. 

“ It  is  but  faint  praise  to  speak  of  HawortfC s as  merely  a good  novel. 
It  is  one  of  the  few  great  novels.  . . . As  a story,  it  is  alive  through- 

out with  a thrilling  interest  which  does  not  flag  from  beginning  to  end, 
and,  besides  the  story,  there  is  in  it  a wonderfully  clever  study  of  human 
nature.” — H u'tford  C our  ant. 

Hawort/i's  yn\l  unquestionably  be  acknowledged  one  of  the  great 
literary  achievements  of  the  day.  The  chief  feature  is  its  intense  dramatic 
power.  It  consists  almost  wholly  of  vividly-presented  pictures,  which  so 
impress  themselves  on  the  mind  of  the  reader,  that  the  effect  is  more  that 
of  seeing  the  story  acted  than  of  reading  it.” — Boston  Post. 

‘‘Conversation  and  incident  move  naturally  and  with  perfect  freedom, 
yet  there  is  not  a page  which  does  not  essentially  aid  in  the  development 
of  plot.  . , . The  handsome  illustrations  are  in  tone  and  keeping 

with  the  spirit  of  the  book.” — Buffalo  Courier. 

“ The  book  is  original,  powerful,  helpful,  dramatic,  vivid  and  great. 
Every  character  is  cut  with  the  distinctness  of  a cameo,  and  every  one  is 
unique.  . . . The  art  of  the  volume  is  perfect.  Every  word  is  needed 

to  effect  the  result.  The  pictures  fit  into  one  another.  The  whole  is  a 
faultless  mosaic.” — Albany  Argus. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  ivill  be  sent,  j>rej>aid,  upon  receipt  of  price,  by 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS, 

743  AND  745  Broadway,  New  York. 


■ 


■'m' 


